Cybertronian Culture and Biology 1-0-Y
by Nicor Warg-Fyrweorm
Summary: "Cybertronian Culture and Biology One-Oh-Why: How to survive learning about alien habits, anatomy and society. Warning: Understand 'survival' as 'to continue to live', not as 'to remain healthy, happy and unaffected in spite of some occurrence'." Or, "how Spike Witwicky learned about Cybertronian and managed to mentally scar them all for life."
1. Creation

When Spike gets out of the VW Beetle, new leather jacket slung over one shoulder and sunglasses covering his eyes, he sees the twins, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, calmly chatting in the _Ark_'s entrance.

"Hey guys!" He salutes, waving his free hand, as he approaches them, Bumblebee going back to root mode. "What are you cooking this fine day?"

"Cooking? What reason would we have to experiment with organic refueling materials?" The golden mech sneers while the red one looks confused.

"It's an expression." The teenager laughs, pushing his sunglasses up when he gets to the shadow cast by the volcano. "It means to plan something, so I was asking if you were planning something." He explains, smiling widely, and the twins plus Bumblebee look at him with curiosity.

"We weren't planning anything. What is that?" Sideswipe answers, pointing at Spike's new leather jacket.

Smiling wide and proudly, the boy shows it to them as they slowly go inside.

"My dad gave it to me as a birthday present. Isn't it awesome? I've been wanting one for years! Shame none of you have a motorcycle alt mode. Now, _that_ would be the best birthday present ever." He daydreams, imagining the never-ending road, only the wind and red desert ground all around him, riding a blue—

"A what present?" Sunstreaker cuts through his thoughts, and the boy frowns a second in confusion before remembering what he was saying.

"Oh. A birthday present. You know, things your friends and family give you for your birthday."

"Humans celebrate the day they were created." Bumblebee adds after some seconds of silence, startling both his fellow Autobots and his human friend.

"You guys don't?" Spike asks, stunned, as they enter the rec room.

"Why should we?" Sideswipe shots back nonchalantly, grabbing a couple of Energon cubes from the dispenser as the younger Autobot and the teenager sit down at the closest table, the one almost on the corner, so as to be able to keep talking.

"Why should you?" He repeats, incredulous, as the twins sit in front of them, the red one giving the spare cube to Bumblebee. "But it's the day you were born, the day you started your life! It's the best reason to celebrate, to rejoice for the fact that, if you hadn't been born then, you wouldn't be here now!"

"Humans are weird." Sunstreaker says simply, sipping his Energon, and Spike has to shake his head to focus.

"You mean, you _really_ don't celebrate birthdays?"

"Again, why should we? Creating is nothing big." The red twin answers with a shrug, looking at the boy curiously.

"It's nothing… I have the feeling I'm missing something here." He finally manages to say, frowning in confusion as he tries to put things together. "How can creating a new life be… nothing big?"

The twins exchange a look before turning to an amused Bumblebee.

"He doesn't know how creating goes, does he?"

"Of course I do." The teenager scowls, crossing his arms, as he remembers Biology class and that awkward afternoon with his father after he started high school. "When a male Cybertronian loves a female Cybertronian very much—" He starts in a bored voice, but three big robotic beings suddenly leaning towards him cut him short.

"A male and a female _what_?"

"Why do you talk about two individuals?"

"What has love to do with creation?"

Overwhelmed by the voices talking in unison and the questions he manages to catch, Spike harshly gestures for them to quieten.

When they finally do, all four of them have bewildered expressions on their faces.

"What has love to do with creation?" He repeats, and Sideswipe nods, identifying himself as the one who asked. "Huh, well, people don't try to have children unless they really love each other, you know? Married couples with jobs and that kind of things."

"Humans can choose when to have newsparks?" After a second to change 'newsparks' for 'babies' in his mind, and to _truly_ ponder the question, Spike looks up at the red twin.

"Well, kinda. You can, huh, you can get a girl pregnant when you have, huh, when you engage in, ah, a _physical_ relationship with her." He manages to say, blushing madly under the curious and attentive looks of the three Autobots. "But that's why you take, uh, _precautions_."

"Precautions?" All three of them speak in unison, and the teenager reddens more, that uncomfortable afternoon having The Talk with his father coming back to mind.

Steeling himself and recalling what Sparkplug said back then, Spike tries to relax.

"Well, the best way to avoid such a situation would be not to… have sex until you are sure she's the girl of your life and you are ready for a kid." The Autobots don't react. "But if you really want to… there are… condoms." Curiosity fills their optics, so the teenager shuffles a bit in his spot. "To keep the… the sperm out of her…"

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker frown.

"But wouldn't that be like not spark-merging at all?"

"Spark what?"

"I think human creation doesn't work like ours." Bumblebee summarizes at all the dumbstruck looks.

"Obviously not. For Cybertronian, creation happens in a spark-merge when enough energy is available to create a newspark. There are ways to make that more likely, but none to avoid it." Sideswipe explains simply, and it's Spike's turn to frown.

After a couple of seconds of thinking about the issue, he decides he really _doesn't want to know_ about 'robot sex', so he lets his questions stay unanswered.

"Huh." He says simply, and, once the Autobots realize he's not going to say anything else, Sunstreaker pokes him softly with a dactyl.

"Now, why did you say that creation could only happen between a mech and a femme?"

"Between what?"

"I think your words were 'male' and 'female'." Bumblebee supplies helpfully, as curious as the twins.

"'Cause that's the way it happens in humans? Don't you have female Cybertronian?" He asks back, genuinely confused.

"We have femmes. But 'mech' and 'femme' are just frame-types. So, what does this have to do with creation?"

"What do you mean, 'just frame-types'?" He repeats, turning all his attention to Sunstreaker in the hope he will explain his words.

"There are many frame-types. Bumblebee is a Minibot, Prime is a Cargo, Sides' and I are Road Runners, Screamer is a Seeker… and 'femme' is just another frame-type." The golden mech answers simply with a small shrug.

Spike is stunned.

"So, it's just appearances? Alt modes?" The twins shrug with a nod, which is a 'mostly, yeah'. "Does that mean that…" He blanches at the thought, at the impossibility, at the _weirdness_ of it all, but Bumblebee's curious poking makes the rest of the sentence blurt out of his mouth. "… that _any of you_ could carry a child?" His voice is squeaky, but the Autobots just grow more curious.

"Yes, of course." The VW Beetle answers, and the teenager lets himself fall to lay on the table he's sitting on.

_Any of them could…_

"Seriously?" He croaks, and three voices answer positively. "But that's… that's…"

"Spike? I think you better talk with Ratchet about this, I'm afraid we must be explaining it wrong." Sideswipe cuts in, poking him softly on the side. "Though, one more question, if you're still operative." He hums in agreement, listening half way as he tries to erase images of the twins and Bumblebee sporting tell-tale pregnant bellies. "Does human creation always happen in pairs?"

"Does human… what? What do you mean, 'in pairs'?" He repeats, sitting up, when the question gets through the disturbing imaginings.

"Well, you said that creation happens between two individuals. Does that mean that humans _always_ create a newspark between two of them? You can't create one alone?"

Spike can only think of a starfish growing from the severed arm of another.

"Create one _alone_? Are you nuts?!"

Blank looks.

And then, Sunstreaker turns to his brother.

"I think you've blown his processor. He thinks we are fruits composed of a seed and a hard shell."

"No, no, I meant, are you crazy? Malfunctioning?" At the last one they react with indignant shouts. "Guys, calm down!" Huffing, they do, curiosity quickly taking them once they fall silent. "It's _impossible_ for a human to create alone, not even females can." They nod in acceptance, and it is the teenager's curiosity that grows then. "You _can_?"

"Sure can. Soundwave's Cassettes? They're most likely only his." Bumblebee answers calmly, and Spike feels like the world is tilting.

"Soundwave's… You mean… They are his _children_?" He whispers, a mix between horrified and dumbstruck.

"Of course. A Cassette-carrier is _always_ his Cassettes' creator. Though it doesn't mean there can't be a co-creator. You see, Cassettes—"

But Spike isn't listening anymore, the image of Soundwave—_Soundwave—_with a rounded pregnant belly being almost too much to—

"A co-creator? Like, two creators?" He blurts out, shaking his head to dislodge the image, because _that_ is far more disturbing that thinking about the twins and Bumblebee—_don't think about that!_ "Does that mean Starscream is Laserbeak's other creator?"

Silence.

There's a loud clanging noise from the ventilation shaft, and the four of them jump to their feet in shock.

Slowly, Sunstreaker approaches the vent as Bumblebee pushes Spike behind him.

And then, the golden Autobot opens it, peeks inside—and blurts out laughing.

Stunned, no one moves for a second, before Sideswipe gets next to his brother to see what's so funny—and starts laughing too.

"Guys? What is it?" The teenager asks and, without being able to verbally answer, Sunstreaker takes out whatever is in the vent.

Laserbeak, optics offline, hangs limply from his servo.

Bumblebee falls into the bench amidst peals of laughter.

"What…?

"He—He _crashed_!" Sideswipe manages to chortle, his engine rumbling noisily with mirth. "He was listening to us and he _crashed_! You short-circuited his processor!"

And then, Spike realizes that what he's just managed is to make Laserbeak faint with his hastily and quickly blurted unprocessed question, most likely from the imagery that popped up.

Not letting it get to him, too, he decides to surrender to the laughter bubbling in his chest instead.

"I wish—I wish I could see their faces when Laserbeak tells them!" He cackles, leaning on the VW Beetle's leg.

"We can!" The twins shout in unison and, next he knows, he's been scooped up in the servos of a mech rushing through the corridors, a blur of red bouncing in front of him.

Hanging tightly to the dactyls around him, Spike waits until the world has stopped bouncing and he's been left on something solid to open his eyes again.

"Hey, what's—Is that _Laserbeak_?" Cliffjumper, who is on monitor duty, exclaims, looking from the twins to the Cassette still hanging limply from Sunstreaker's servos. "What did you do to him?"

"Spike crashed his processor." Sideswipe sniggers, fiddling with some controls next to where he's left the teenager.

"He _what_? And what are you doing?"

"We're making sure his creators don't worry." The red twin answers with a sharp smirk, looking at the screen—

Black flickers to static for a second before a view of the _Nemesis_' bridge shows up, Megatron sitting on his throne and Soundwave manning the controls.

"_What is the meaning of this?_" The Decepticon leader growls with flashing optics, studying Sideswipe and, to the teenager's surprise, Spike.

But the twin isn't looking back at the tyrant.

"There you are!" He shouts, optics on the Communications Officer, who, as per usual, doesn't react. "We just wanted to let you know we haven't done anything to him, he was already like that when we found him." He adds with soft snickers, and his brother steps next to him and lifts the immobile Cassette so that the mechs on the other side of the screen can see him.

"_Is that Laserbeak?_" A shrill voice exclaims, Starscream walking into view between the communications console and the throne.

The twins break down laughing.

Spike, more controlled, almost loses it when he sees the Decepticon's stunned faces and the flash of surprise of their optics.

"What is going on here?" The teenager almost falls on his back as he turns to look at a clearly unamused Prowl on the doorway.

"We—We just wanted to—to let Las—Laserbeak's creators know—he's fine." Sunstreaker manages to say, and, on the other side of the screen, Soundwave and Starscream exchange a look.

Sideswipe, who hasn't taken his optics off of them, ends on the ground with a hiccup of his engine, unable to stay standing when his laughter doubles.

Bumblebee, who has also caught the look, manages to point in the Seeker's general direction before his laughter becomes too much to let him keep his arm steady.

As one, all three Decepticons turn to stare at the wall.

The two yellow Autobots lose it, joining Sideswipe as they fall to their knees, while Cliffjumper takes a careful step away, as if afraid it's catching.

Prowl ignores them and steps up to the screen.

"_Are they on High Grade? There's no bot ther—_" Starscream's words are cut short as he turns once more to the screen, only to find himself staring straight at Soundwave, who hasn't turned around.

Megatron's mouth falls open, optics a pale orange.

"Prime will contact you with the terms of the return of Laserbeak." The Autobot Second in Command tells the Decepticons calmly, and cuts the transmission.

Just before the screen goes black, Spike catches both Decepticon officers whirling to the screen with almost white flashing optics, even the Communications Officer looking murderous despite his inexpressive face.

His mirth is smothered.

He has the feeling Ratchet is going to have a field trip trying to put the twins and Bumblebee together after the next battle.

"Now, an explanation, please." Prowl's calm voice cuts through his musings, and he turns his attention to where the three laughing Autobots have managed to get back to their knees and regain their speech capabilities, though there are still wide smiles on their faces.

The Cassette, now in Cliffjumper's hold, is still completely out of it.

"We were trying to explain Spike some things about creation, and he ended with the idea that Laserbeak is Soundwave and Starscream's creation." Sideswipe answers, snickering softly, and the red Minobot's jaw falls open in shock.

If the Autobot tactician was human, he would have sighed tiredly.

"Perhaps you should leave the explanations to Ratchet, from now on. Although what Spike suggested is not as unlikely a possibility as you seem to think."

Silence.

And then, the sound of whirling fans fills the room, with the two Minibots turning to stare in astonishment at the frontliners, and Prowl's doorwings straighten almost vertically on his back—

His fans stutter for a second before the tactician's blue eyes turn black and he ends sprawled on the ground.

Spike's question about if they should call the medic is drowned in the horned mechs cries of despair.

"I did _not_ need those images!"

* * *

**AN:** I'm under siege by plot bunnies, help!

Well, not really 'help', 'cause this one's quite tame in comparison to the others, but _another_? Really?

This story is born because I have my headcannons about _Transformers_ (as everyone else) that I've started writing on paper to put bits as notes in another story... And I found myself thinking, 'hey, what if...?'

Most. Dangerous. Question. Ever.

In this case, it went like: What if humans found about all these facts? How would they learn about them? And what would it mean to the Cybertronian, both Autobot and Decepticon?

So... _Ta-da_!

I'm going to see if I can work out a schedule, but no promises (yet). I'll like to have some more written before posting the next so, if I can, I'll try to put this into a 'updates on weekends' thing, or, if not, expect the next one about a week from now.

Also, warning: This one may be all laughter, but not all facts in life are pretty, so don't expect them all to be like this one (I've got at least another funny one, but I also have a mixed one and a dark-ish one, so you've been warned).


	2. New lives

Sitting on a table in the Repair Bay watching Ratchet deactivate Laserbeak's weapons is not as interesting as it sounds.

In fact, once one has already seen all the alien medical tools adapted for use on beings with a metallic body, the Repair Bay is quite boring.

Even Ratchet's grumbling has grown old by now.

So, Spike lets out a tired sigh, pulls his legs to his chest, wraps his arms around them and rests his chin on his knees.

This has to be some kind of punishment for before, even though Optimus said the boy was innocent of the incident because of his lack of knowledge about the situation.

He entertained himself at first trying to imagine what would befall the twins and Bumblebee—though mostly the frontliners—for their careless communication with the Decepticons and their, as Jazz had put it, _psychological warfare against their own faction_, even though Cliffjumper had been the one shouting, in Cybertronian, of course, loud enough for the whole _Ark_ to hear as they took Prowl and the _still_ knocked out Cassette to Ratchet.

Which is why the Prime, with a loudly growling Ironhide that was a second away from literally shooting the twins, entered the room rather hastily as soon as Ratchet started looking over his patients, the Head of Special Operations calmly following.

Whatever the red Minibot told them, still in the clicking and whirling and overall mechanical noise that was their native language, almost made the Weapons Specialist join the list of 'casualties', but the sound of a smirking Jazz's fans coming online kept him conscious, even if it was just to shout—shriek, shouting in Cybertronian sounds like shrieking, more so at the pitch Ironhide's voice got to—and threaten the black and white mech.

And that was when Ratchet started throwing wrenches.

The Repair Bay emptied rather quickly then.

Spike followed out of self-preservation, and so he witnessed Optimus ordering, with a really disapproving look, the twins and the two Minibots to his office to talk about the situation, and was reassured that it wasn't the boy's fault.

Jazz had just made the comment about psychological warfare when the door to the Repair Bay opened and Ratchet literally picked the teenager up by the scruff of his neck.

Well, by the collar of his shirt.

Spike only had time to yelp in surprise before the medic plopped him in a sitting position on his other servo, to let him be more comfortable but keep the message clear.

_You are staying with me._

After the twins told him that they had been trying to explain the human about creation before the whole Starscream-Soundwave mess, Ratchet shooed the group off, entered the Repair Bay and locked the door.

And Spike was left on a table with an order to '_not touch anything, and I mean _any_thing_' before the medic went back to his job of disarming the Cassette.

So, he is bored.

More so because making sure a bot doesn't have access to their weapons means connecting a cable from Ratchet's arm to a port on the back of Laserbeak's neck and _stay completely still_.

Sure, watching the medic's blue optics dim, like the times he's answering internal comm, and flicker between shades of blue was interesting, as well as trying to decipher all the clicking and whirring mutterings, but that lost it's attractive soon enough.

The only other Cybertronian with them is Prowl, but he's still out of it, lying on his back on one of the metallic beds, doorwings spread to the sides the most the boy has ever seen them.

So, Spike is bored.

With another mournful sigh, he presses his face against his knees, trying not to think about the nice day, and how he'd wanted to go for a ride with Bumblebee, maybe race the twins…

Another sigh leaves his lips before he can stop himself.

"Is there a physical reason why you're ex-venting like that, or is it just to annoy me?" The teenager jumps a bit at the sudden voice, looking up quickly to see Ratchet coiling the cable and looking at him with optics dim in slight irritation.

"I was bored." He answers sheepishly, shrugging, and the medic lets out a huff of air through his vents that makes the boy smirk. "Can you talk now? Because I'm going to start sighing again if you don't."

The ambulance just gives him a deadpanned look in response, putting the cable back in his arm and closing the panel so that it isn't visible anymore.

"Yes, I can talk. I fact, I _need_ to talk to straighten the tangle of data those three put in your processor." Spike blinks in surprise before remembering what he had been talking with the twins and Bumblebee before they found Laserbeak.

He can't help the grimace appearing on his features.

The medic doesn't see it, busy as he is restraining the Cassette to the bed.

"Do we _really_ have to talk about sex? Can't we just leave it with 'things are different between our species'?" He tentatively asks, and Ratchet, who was reaching for some tools, stops, eyes dimming.

There's a cough of the ambulance's engine a second later as the medic grimaces.

"_That_ is human interface? What a _mess_." Metals clank as small armor plates move slightly in what looks like a shiver.

Spike can't decide what's more interesting, the words, or the movement.

In the end, the decision is taken for him as Ratchet grabs a couple of tools and sits in front of the table the teenager is on, carefully extending what looks like a mesh cloth to put the tools on.

"Yes, we need to talk, because I can't have you crashing processors with every couple of words you say." The boy huddles a bit in embarrassment, and the medic softens his tone. "It isn't your fault, and crashing is a pretty extreme reaction, but knowing more about us may be convenient. Even if I can't see how _creation_ will ever be useful to get out of a situation… unless you _purposefully_ twist it to make others fritz." There a slightly dark smirk on Ratchet's faceplate, and Spike chuckles after a quick glance at Laserbeak.

The memory of Starscream and Soundwave's almost white optics quickly sobers him, though.

The ambulance gives him a curious look before turning his attention to his tools, using a small needle to poke at hard to access areas, dust flecks falling from them.

"Now, how did you manage to draw Starscream as Laserbeak's creator from a talk about creation?"

Blushing seems to have become far too common lately, but Spike can't stop himself.

So, instead, he keeps looking at the cleansing of the tools.

"Well, they said that the Cassettes are Soundwave's children, and that they could have been created by two Cybertronian and… well, Laserbeak flies, and Starscream was the first Decepticon Seeker that came to mind, so…" He leaves it at that with a shrug, and quickly notices that the needle isn't moving anymore.

A look up gives him the answer, for Ratchet is studying the boy with his mouth open in surprise.

"What?"

"You thought Starscream was Laserbeak's creator because they both have aerial capabilities?" The medic retorts with a mix of disbelief and astonishment.

"Huh, yes, I guess." At the confused look, Spike moves to sit Indian style, waving his hands as if that would help the explanation come forth. "Look, I was—I was overwhelmed by a lot of images I _really didn't want to think about_, so I latched onto the first thing I could. Even if it wasn't that much better. So, yes, I thought that Laserbeak's father, or creator, or whatever you call him, had to be someone able to fly, and the first that came to mind was Starscream, so that's the name I said."

"No, no, that's not what I—" The ambulance cuts himself with an annoyed grumble of engines, but calms down before looking back at the teenager. "_This_ is exactly why we need to talk. You've been given erroneous data, and have managed to establish the wrong connections between what little they managed to get right. So, forget whatever those three told you and listen." He pauses for an instant, and Spike nods, back straight.

Perhaps this will be his chance to finally get rid of those disturbing images once and for all.

"Newsparks, the new Cybertronian, can be created in two ways." The tools are left on the cloth as Ratchet lifts his servos as if those options were in his palms. "From another spark or through Vector Sigma."

"Vector Sigma?" The medic stops so completely that not even the tiniest of whirrs comes from his frame.

Then, his optics go black, and Spike worries for a second that he's somehow managed to make the mech crash, but Ratchet just lets out a loud huff as he covers his faceplate with a servo.

"I'll give you the really, really, _really_ short version. If you want the whole one, talk with Prime." The teenager is about to ask what the ambulance is talking about, but Ratchet looks back at him that instant, so he stays quiet. "Long before the first Cybertronian records, a powerful being created robots. He used the strongest materials in the universe, gave them processors more advanced than any civilization had managed to build, and installed the most complex and precise circuitry and sensory arrays in them. And then, he filled them with the richest and most efficient energy source and turned them on." Feeling like a kid at a storytelling, Spike leans forward.

The medic's optics flash a second with amusement before continuing.

"The robots worked perfectly, and their AI was so advanced that they could have been mistaken for actual living beings. And yet, they clearly weren't. They learned, and could mimic feelings almost to perfection, but it was too obvious for their creator that they weren't more than pieces masterfully put together. So, the powerful being gave them something more. He gave them parts of his life source." The teenager's mouth falls open in surprise, stiffening.

"To all of them?" He asks in a whisper, and Ratchet's amusement stays in his optics this time, as well as the tiny smile on his faceplate.

"To every single one. There weren't a lot, and the being's life force was so powerful that the parts he gave them were nothing more than sparks. He gave them the ability to adapt, and then they traveled so that the robots could learn, and he taught them what he knew. And with each new thing they learned and experienced, the robots' sparks became more their own. So, it came to the point that the powerful being decided to let them go, for them to live their own lives, and so, together, they searched a planet for the robots to settle."

"And they found it." Spike cuts in with a big smile, starting to see where this is going.

"Actually, they didn't."

"What?" The medic's engine rumbles softly in laughter, and the teenager gestures for him to go on.

"The robots had been so carefully created, so specially designed, that no world felt like home to them, now that they were able to feel. Their home, they told their creator, was wandering the universe with him. And so, the being built them a world, as masterfully crafted as his creations had been, a metallic planet that would wander the universe. And _that_ felt like home, but with it came another problem, for the planet was dead. There was no life, no energy, nothing. It could have been nothing more than a gigantic asteroid, and, like one, it would be caught by the first star it approached, and be devoured by it, because there wasn't any energy source strong enough to power a whole planet. So, the creator decided to give it _his own_." The teenager almost falls flat on the table in surprise, so intently was he leaning towards the mech. "His own energy source, as powerful, or even more, than any star, filled the planet and gave it life, made it the home the creator had intended it to be. And, to always be there to help the beings he had given life to, he converted his own body, housing the tiny part of his life force that had remained behind, into a powerful object that he gave to the wisest and most compassionate of his creations, for him to lead the rest. And like this, the new race of mechanical beings with the ability to transform and with a spark powering their frames, got their home, a planet they named Cybertron, thanks to their creator, Primus. Then, things happened, and here we are." The last sentence is bitter and dark, and Spike startles almost as badly as before, but the sadness reflected by those dark azure optics tempers his surprise.

"What about that Vector Something?" He asks softly, and Ratchet's optics turn black for less than a second in a quick reboot, the equivalent of a blink, to center himself.

"Vector Sigma. It's a super computer linked to Cybertron's very core, to Primus' spark, so it can create newsparks by putting a spark in an empty frame." He explains, voice no longer dark, and the teenager feels equal parts happy and curious.

"So you build frames, bring them to that super computer, and it gives them a spark." He summarizes, thinking about how _artificial_ that sounds… but how much better it is than thinking about pregnant robots.

Besides, that's a lot more like what he would expect from a race of mechanical beings.

"In a sense. Now, the other way—" Spike cringes, but, despite seeing his reaction, the medic doesn't stop talking. "—is to create a spark from an already active Cybertronian. And _that_ is what is called creation." The boy frowns in confusion, all his steely resolve to push away unpleasant images crumbling to nothing as he focuses on the words. "Creating happens when enough energy and coding come together, either from only one spark or through the spark-merging of two others, and form a new spark. This is a really common occurrence, since our own sparks have extra replicated coding at all times, and all it takes is a power surge for whatever reason to have a newspark."

"But shouldn't you have lots of babies—I mean, newsparks, then?" He asks, confused and curious, and Ratchet smiles in amusement.

"Creation, Spike. Creation. It's not 'a big deal' because it happens a lot. And because, 93'7855% of the times, it doesn't go further than that." The teenager's features go blank, waiting for further explanation, as he doesn't understand _anything_. "For a newspark to be viable, it needs to have all essential coding in it, but the percentage of it in a mature spark is of 6'2145, and it can be even less depending on the state of replication of non-essential coding. So, most of the times, the newspark is just absorbed by the carrier spark."

Spike freezes, eyes wide in horror.

_It's not 'a big deal' because it happens a lot… The newspark is just absorbed by the carrier spark…_

_It's not 'a big deal'… happens a lot… just absorbed…_

_Not 'a big deal'… a lot… absorbed…_

"And it—those…" He has to gulp twice to sooth the apparent dryness in his throat. "That 'absorbing' only happens with the—the ones that have a problem?"

Spike's stomach churns, and he feels himself paling.

It sounds too much like that doc about the lioness that left all her newborn cubs because one was sick.

"Exactly." Ratchet answers carefully, examining him attentively. "Are you alright?"

"I… it's just that… I didn't know you…" The medic frowns, and Spike shakes his head, not sure if he really wants to find the words to explain. "You kill your kids just because they are sick." The ambulance looks away, pondering it, and the teenager shivers.

"I don't know if I've understood it right but… Spike, non-viable newsparks are like 'eggs'. The ones you humans eat." The boy looks up sharply, looking at the mech. "They _could have been_ chickens. Or ducks, or whatever. But they aren't. So, even if you left one of those eggs with its creator, there would be nothing coming out of it."

It clicks loudly in place in his head, and the whole picture rearranges itself.

Non-viable newsparks aren't like deaf or blind babies, they're like unfertilized eggs.

Lifeless from the very start.

The teenager smiles in relief.

"So, you don't just 'absorb' a newspark because it has a tiny defect. I thought… for a second I'd thought… I thought you guys did that too with ones that were, you know. Like, born blind, or deaf…" The medic's face goes blank, and Spike's eyes widen. "Ratchet?"

"If it has all essential coding intact, a newspark is viable." He simply repeats, and the boy pales.

"So you do…"

"Let me explain you something." He has to physically shake himself before finding enough strength to nod. "You know I can repair almost everything, right? Even reattach limbs, or replace parts." The teenager nods again, still not over his shock, but more curious. "Well, there are things that just can't be repaired, least of all replaced, because they are so attuned to the spark that they are the only pieces that would ever be compatible with it. Any others, any changes, and either they will malfunction or the spark will give out, if the change is too big." Ratchet solemn gaze doesn't look away from him, and Spike finds himself completely lost in those blue beacons. "_Those_ are the parts regulated by essential coding. So yes, some of those malfunctions you've just described, and some others I know humans suffer, are reasons for a newspark's absorption, because they are caused by mistakes or lack of essential coding. Our own sparks recognize it, so they absorb the newspark. And the bot isn't aware of the newspark until the absorption is over."

Just when he began to feel better, to understand, Ratchet's words make it worse again.

"You don't realize you had a kid until it's dead?" He squeaks, not as shocked as before now that he knows the reasons behind the absorption, but still stunned.

"No, we don't. It takes two orns, about 16'6 of your days, for the carrier spark to completely analyze a newspark. This is known as trial time, with the confirmation of its viability marking the beginning of the development period, during which the newspark will strengthen for when it is transferred to the Newspark Protoform, its frame."

"So that is when they are really born?" Ratchet nods, looking satisfied that he's finally cleared that. "Do you… have you…" The medic gestures for him to go on and, feeling like the rudest guy in the planet, he pushes out his question. "Have you ever created?"

_That… sounds awkward._

But the ambulance just gives him an amused smile at his 'I think I've eaten a bug' look, and nods.

"Yes, many times. But I've never had a successfully developed newspark, if that's what you wanted to ask next." He answers easily, not looking uncomfortable at all, or sad, or anything, and Spike realizes, just then, that it _really_ is normal, and not that big of a deal.

They _really_ are a different species.

"Ratchet?" He calls after a couple of minutes of calm, in which he finally takes in everything, a list of questions slowly developing.

The medic doesn't look away from the tools he's gone back to cleaning, but nods as an indication for him to ask away.

"Prowl said that Laserbeak may really be Soundwave and Starscream's creation, but you said that being fliers may not be proof of it. So, why did he say that?"

"Because it would be a tactical advantage." The medic's mouth is open, but the voice is not his.

When they look at the beds, they find Prowl calmly sitting up, as composed as always.

Though, the way his doorwings are twitching on his back kind of break that usual seriousness.

They look too much like a bunny's twitching whiskers, to be fair.

But, the answer is more interesting than the now settling doorwings.

"A tactical advantage?" The boy repeats, looking to the side to see Ratchet scowling before turning his attention back to the Second in Command, who gives the Cassette a look before approaching the other two.

Laserbeak, yellow optics alight, watches them in silence.

"The chances of obtaining an airborne Cassette would be higher if he was to get a Seeker's coding." The tactician explains calmly, and the Decepticon squawks indignantly. "Of course, it could also happen naturally, but the chances of that are far lower."

"So, you mean, Soundwave wanted a flying Cassette and that's why he… uh… 'created' with Starscream?" The boy asks awkwardly, and Ratchet's engine gives a short rev in a snort-like gesture.

"Spark-merged, Spike. I'll explain that another time, but when two Cybertronian want to create together, they spark-merge." Laserbeak squawks again, struggling a bit with his restraints. "Though he seems really sure about being Soundwave's split spark creation." He adds, gesturing to the fuming Cassette.

"Split spark?"

"It's how a newspark is created by a single mature spark. Those that were created that way are called split spark creations." The medic answers easily, and the boy nods, filling the information away before turning to Prowl, calmly studying the captured Decepticon that is clearly glaring at them, pale yellow optics on the Second in Command's calm blue.

"That's what you meant when you said it was a tactical advantage? To spark-merge with a Seeker so that the Cassette would be a flier?" He asks the tactician, who turns away from the once more squawking Laserbeak without a second glance.

"No. I meant that having a Flier Cassette as a spy would be more beneficial, more so because he already had a Grounder Cassette spy in Ravage, so, to increase the chances of that, spark-merging with a Seeker would be the best option to gain an unimpaired mech. Also, seeing how Starscream is the best Flier in the Decepticon ranks, that would make him a prime candidate."

Spike can feel his brain whirling but, instead of succumbing to the urge to just speak whatever words manage to get to his mouth in hopes for an answer, like he did back in the rec room, he takes some time to let them settle.

He doesn't like what he ends with.

"I think I've got it wrong. To my understanding, what you are saying is that Soundwave wanted Laserbeak to be a flier so that he could use him as a tool. Are you really saying that Soundwave created his children _to use them in the war_?"

"That is exactly what I've said." Prowl answers, and the teenager can't help but be glad he's sitting down.

Ratchet's servo feels warm as he wraps it around his back.

"Spike? You've got to understand one more thing. Cybertronian don't have a development period as comparatively long as humans. In fact, our own 'growth' can be over barely a joor after activation, which to a human would be like being in your adult frame an hour after 'birth'." The boy's eyes widen even more as he looks up at the medic. "We are installed all essential data, which means language packages, city-state blueprints, law and conduct codes, and frame-type directives, before becoming active for the first time. Those created by Vector Sigma are also installed work protocols for their assigned station, which is something that became a standard practice during the last part of the Golden Age for most of Cybertron's population."

"You didn't have a _childhood_? A time with your creators for them to—to _teach_ you? Like you said Primus did?" He squeaks, gesturing a bit, as he snaps out of his shock.

The Autobots' optics darken.

"I did." Ratchet answers softly, the servo on Spike's back retreating. "I was created by two mate bonded mechs, and we staid as a familial unit for a vorn, before I joined the Medical Repair Academy, but kept close even after that. But I was created long before the Newspark Law was passed." And then, he carefully looks at Prowl, whose doorwings are hanging low but tense, trembling softly. "Some of us did not have that luxury, and most were simply created by Vector Sigma."

"It is worse than that." The tactician whispers, an almost inaudible growling of his engine permeating his voice. "It came to the point Newspark Protoforms weren't available to all castes, so when a viable newspark was created, the carrier had to give it up."

"You mean, they had to… to let the government take away their children?" Spike asks tremulously, paling when the Second in Command nods.

"The creators never knew what happened to them. Most thought they were transferred to a frame and put to work as soon as they were extracted, treated as if they'd been created through Vector Sigma. But others… others suspected that only those the Senate deemed useful were released to work."

"What does that mean?" The teenager whispers to Ratchet, unable to look away from the harsher trembling doorwings alternating between lowering almost limply and straightening tensely.

"It means that the newsparks were transferred to a Newspark Protoform and tested to see what their frame-type and capabilities were, and if the Senate thought they could be useful to them, fill some work position, they were installed the needed data for that post and set to work. But if they weren't… they were deactivated." The boy gasps, turning to the sad-looking medic. "Most creators just forgot about their creations, but others…" Dark azure optics flash briefly as doorwings stiffen and the tactician's optics flare an almost white blue, a growl-like rev cutting through the unvoiced words like a hot knife through butter.

"If everything's been cleared, I'll go back to my post." Ratchet nods, and, without a look back or any further words, Prowl walks out of the Repair Bay, faceplate as impassive as usual and doorwings held at shoulder level, though perhaps a bit more tense than normal.

The silence goes unperturbed for almost a minute before Spike gathers enough courage to turn to the ambulance.

"What happened to—?"

"I'm not answering." The medic cuts, going back to his tools. "That is Prowl's story. If you really want to know, you'll have to talk with him."

And the teenager just nods before looking at the door, knowing that he won't get an answer if he ever asked, not likely.

But he won't ask.

He has a good enough idea, anyway.

* * *

**AN:** Less laughter-oriented chapter, but not one of the darkest. You were warned.

Also, in my headcannon, Decepticons don't 'fly'. They have anti-gravs, sure, like do the Autobots, but they aren't powerful enough to let them fly. Seriously, Decepticons can fly but Autobots _can't_? Not computing.

So, here things work differently.

Let's make a list of the Decepticons on Earth during season 1: Megatron, Soundwave and Cassettes, Starscream's trine, the Reflector components (who, to me, are a smaller Combiner team) and some more Seekers, if you wish (I tend not to include them, 'cause I can never figure out if they are different Seekers or the Command Trine with wrong colors, but if you want to add them...*shrugs* it's not relevant for what I'm about to say).

Now, lets make a list of their alt modes: Jets, a gun, a cassette player and cassettes, and a camera, with the last three/four able to shrink to normal human objects' sizes. And the Seekers have cockpits.

Conclusion? The Seekers carry the rest. And no, Starscream doesn't just drop Megatron to get rid of him, 'cause Soundwave's always paying attention and ready to release Laserbeak to catch their leader. Also, if the situation doesn't merit a 'run away as fast as you can' response, Megatron usually travels with loyal Skywarp.

Why don't the Seekers just fly away? Because Skywarp, as said, is loyal, Thundercracker is not stupid (Laserbeak will get Megatron out, if nothing else, and the Decepticon leader _won't_ be pleased if they do leave him on purpose) and Starscream is the kind to dive to the rescue. Why 'rescue' the rest? 'Cause he can ask for favors later ("How many times have I hauled your sorry aft out of danger? Won't you help me with this teeny tiny little thing? What, you won't? Well, not my fault if I _forget_ to pick you up during the next battle. And since every other Seeker follows my orders, who is going to come get you? Who? ... Yeah, I thought you would like to help.").

Also, I'm having Astrotrain come with the Constructicons to Earth instead of who knows how many chapters later. Problem solved.

So, when Ratchet here refers to 'aerial capabilities' he means _real_ flight, not hovering around on anti-gravs. Which is also why Spike thought about Seekers last chapter.

About the ending of this chapter... I know what I'm doing, I may even have Spike say or think out loud what that 'idea' is next chapter, but I'm not saying here. Lets see what you people think.

Also, think about Cybertronian (language) as in the live movies (Bay-verse). I've always thought it fitting, even though, for everyone's sake, they always spoke English in the cartoon. Sure, Teletraan downloaded a package with as many Earth languages as possible to them when it repaired them after the crash, but that doesn't mean Cybertronian got deleted.

The non-humanoid Cassettes' noises, at least those that aren't outright growling at people, are Cybertronian speech, so Laserbeak is actually speaking to Prowl and Ratchet here, even though Spike only hears squawking. So, Ratchet is translating for the boy when he says the Cassette 'seems really sure he is Soundwave's split spark creation'.

By the by, before I forget it, I know it's headcannon for a lot of us that doorwings and wings are mobile. Here, as you've read, doorwings have mobility. Wings don't, though their flaps do. It'll get explained further into the fic, don't worry. And take into account this is all from Spike's point of view.

This fic starts someplace during the first chapters of season 2, so Perceptor, Blaster and the Coneheads are already on Earth, amidst some others, but Vector Sigma hasn't been reactivated, so no Aerialbots nor Stunticons nor Combaticons. Yet.


	3. Sparks

Spike has finally managed to convince Ratchet to let him help, even if the mech keeps a watchful optic on him as he takes out and cleans the small—for a Cybertronian—parts of some kind of welder, when Hound and Gears enter the Repair Bay.

Curious, the boy looks up, and is rewarded by a bright smile and an annoyed look.

"Hey, guys!" He waves a hand, putting the small gear back in place a second later before giving the newcomers his full attention, something that the ambulance is too busy with whatever he's doing with another tool to do. "What brings you here?"

"That." The Minibot answers, pointing at where Laserbeak is recharging in his restraints.

Or looks like recharging. Spike thinks the Cassette is genuine, most likely having fallen into recharge due to boredom, but one can never be sure.

"Gears has been ordered to bring him to the brig." Hound explains as the medic gets up to help the mech on guard duty, leaving the boy looking up at the tracker. "And I've decided to come save you from boredom, if Ratchet's finished with you."

"Yes, I'm done with him. For today, at least. No way am I going to risk blowing his processor by trying to give him too much data at once." The ambulance answers with a small shifting of some armor plates, a gesture Spike has come to recognize as a shrug.

"Are we going for a ride?" He asks Hound as soon as they are out of the Repair Bay, Laserbeak's indignant squawking at being pulled out of recharge and the two Autobots' cursing as the Cassette pecks them going silent as the soundproof doors close.

"If you want to, that was my plan."

Spike beams.

And whoops, enjoying the warm air of the desert ruffling his hair, the sun reflecting on his sunglasses and the feeling of his leather jacket over the back of the driver's seat as the tracker moves over rock and sand with the same ease the twins would on paved road.

"You know, this is also an awesome way to enjoy my birthday gift!" He shouts over the roaring of the wind and the engine.

"How so?" Hound's voice asks through the speakers, sounding curious, as they approach a canyon.

"'Cause a military jeep is one of the coolest rides I could ask for—" He reaches for his jacket and, a bit awkwardly because of the seat belt, manages to put it on. "—this! Commander Spike Witwicky ready for action!" The mech laughs.

"Well then, Commander, Autobot scout and tracker Hound at your service. Shall I guide you to the topmost point of these approaching canyon walls, Sir?" The teenager snickers for a couple of seconds, before relaxing against the seat and resting an arm on the rolled down window.

"Proceed, soldier. We'll settle an outpost as soon as the area is secured."

"An outpost for what, Sir?" The boy frowns for a second, looking up at the pure blue sky as he thinks—and a smile appears on his face as he realizes he has just given himself an answer.

"For the Skywatch Operation, scout Hound." He answers pompously, and the soft rumble that shakes the seat isn't so much because of the engine than of the laughter the Autobot is trying to keep silent.

"As you order, Commander Witwicky! No Seeker or Cassette will slip past us!"

They both finally break down laughing, and the rest of the drive is spent in silence.

When they finally get at the top of the canyon, the first thing Spike does as soon as he's back on the ground is take off his leather jacket.

"Bad idea bringing this to the desert." Hound comments with a smile as he sits down next to the boy, making sure his shadow covers the human.

"Well, it was better than leaving it at base. Who knows what would have happened if Perceptor had found it!" The Autobot laughs, resting back on his servos calmly.

"Yes, you're right about that. He would probably have tried to find out what it's made off, and you know what this means." The boy can only hug his jacket closer to his chest with an exaggerated look of horror. "Samples!"

"No! Not my baby, anything but my baby!" The tracker laughs again, but Spike sobers at his own words, Prowl's lowering and rising trembling doorwings once more at the forefront of his thoughts.

"Hey, everything alright?" Dark eyes find blue optics and Spike doubts for a second.

"Just… Ratchet explained about creation and newsparks." He answers at last, the worry in the green mech's features enough to help him decide. "And then, Prowl woke up, and explained why Laserbeak _may be_ Starscream and Soundwave's creation, even if he says he's not."

"And?" Smiling softly at the Autobot's perceptiveness, Spike looks away for a second before turning to the tracker again.

"They told me about the Newspark Law." Hound winces, and that is what makes the human tense. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"Hey, it's alright. It's just, they shouldn't have told you about that when you were just beginning to learn about newsparks." The Autobot soothes him, waving his apologies off with a smile. "They should have told you about other things. Like… oh, yeah! Do you know about the confirmation?"

"When the, what's the word… carrier?" A nod, so Spike smiles and continues with more confidence. "When the carrier spark has made sure a newspark is viable."

"Exactly. And do you know this is when the carrier becomes aware of the newspark?" The boy shakes his head, because they've told him about when a newspark is non-viable, but not about when it's viable. "Well, it is. It takes about 16'6 of your days for the carrier spark to fully scan the newspark, and, once the confirmation is given, the development will begin. It takes between 66'4 and 83 days for the newspark to stabilize and get enough energy to be transferred to a Newspark Protoform, and the whole process, since the instant of creation until the activation, is called maturation of the newspark." Spike nods, noticing how it's similar to human pregnancy, minus the bellies.

Or, well. No one said anything about bellies.

Feeling a lot more insecure, he looks up into a suddenly curious Hound's optics.

"The newspark… does it 'grow' in the sense of 'getting bigger' during the maturation?"

"Well, yes, a bit. A newly created newspark is barely more than the laser core, which is why the maturation needs to happen, for it to stabilize the data and grow the halo."

And Spike ends so confused there are no words going out of his open mouth.

"Huh?"

Minus that.

"Spark physiology. All sparks are spherical bodies of energy arranged in different layers." The Autobot explains with a smile, giving the boy some seconds to shake the shock off, making sure he has his whole attention before continuing. "At the very center of the spark is the laser core, plasma so highly concentrated that it's in constant fusion reaction." And Hound has to stop again as Spike's brain reels at that.

"What? You mean—you guys are _radioactive_?" The tracker laughs.

"No, we're not. I said 'fusion reaction', not 'nuclear fusion reaction'. I know what you are going to say, that it's the same, but trust me, this is the only words I have to describe it in English. We have a whole vocabulary in Cybertronian for this, but…" The clinking of a plating shiver, aka Cybertronian shrug, fills the silence, but Spike is already calming down.

It won't be the first, nor the last, time language is a barrier they can't cross.

"Alright. So your spark is always working." Hound nods, relaxing in his seating position.

"Yes. In a way, they are like stars. Really tiny stars, mind you, but stars nevertheless." Awed and fascinated, remembering Ratchet's tale about Primus' spark, stronger than any star, being what created theirs, the human gestures for the tracker to continue. "As you said, our sparks are 'always working', as the laser core is in constant reaction because it's where the Energon is consumed. It also has a codependent relationship with the other layers of the spark, in that it radiates the energy and gravity that sustains them, but is kept together and stable by their presence."

"So it anchors them, and the others anchor it." Spike summarizes with a nod, which Hound returns.

"Exactly. Around it is the intermediate layer, also known as the data storage. It's a liquified mix of plasma and electricity always in constant movement, and is responsible for the stability of the laser core by exchanging energy between it and the halo. It contains the coding that determines the frame-type, personality and even the primary color scheme, all of which is copied to the processor when the spark is transferred to the Newspark Protoform." Seeing the boy's dumbfounded look, the Autobot smiles in amusement. "In human lore, I think you call that a 'soul'."

Spike leans forwards, keeping himself upright by resting his arms against his pulled up knees.

"You guys have a _physical_ soul?" A warm, almost too warm because of the sun beating on it, servo caresses his back, grounding him, and the teenager finally manages to meet the tracker's optics.

"Yes. It is what gives us life, and what helps us give it to others. We are alive because we have a spark, but if those sparks didn't have an intermediate layer we wouldn't be. In fact, we _really_ are sentient because of the whole of the spark, since its layers are so intertwined and interdependent that it's impossible to pull them apart and keep the spark alight."

"That's… weird." Hound laughs.

"Well, if you have it from the very beginning, you get used to it." He jokes, tapping his chest plates, and Spike snorts.

"I guess. And the other layers?"

"Only one more. The halo." The tracker answers, smiling calmly once more. "It's the outermost layer, and it is completely composed of electricity. It's responsible for keeping the laser core together and as plasma. It also regulates energy output, since it makes sure the pulses from the intermediate layer and laser core are strong enough to reach every part of our frames, but not too much to end frying our wiring. The halo evaporates the Energon, too, and carries it in its molecular state into the spark."

"So, it feeds the spark and acts as a messenger between it and the body."

"Precisely! You're a quick learner, Spike." The boy smiles widely at the praise, though shrugging a bit in modesty. "Also, in a spark-merge, it is the halos that mix and exchange the coding. It's also to the halo that a newspark will anchor itself, and, if it is viable, the halo will convert Energon and feed it to both the carrier spark and the newspark." Spike nods, happy about his new knowledge and the fact it hasn't ended with anyone crashing.

"So, there are no changes in the carrier Cybertronian during the… what did you call the process?" Hound's smile is a bit too big and sharp, and the boy does a double take.

Is the tracker… _smirking_?

"Maturation. And yes, there are, which is what I first wanted to tell you about." Feeling slightly worried, the teenager doubts for a second, before reminding himself that this is _Hound_, and Hound won't do or say something that will put the human in shock knowingly.

"Which is…?" He asks, softly, and the Autobot's smirk—yep, definitely a smirk—widens a bit.

"Do you know how a Cybertronian realizes they are carrying a viable newspark?"

"Morning sickness?" He blurts out without thought, and is rewarded by _Hound_ doing the double take this time.

"What now?"

"Morning sickness. Sometimes, when a woman gets pregnant, they'll throw up in the mornings." The Autobot's optics dim, most likely contacting someone who can explain things better than the slightly flustered human—

And brighten so much and so fast that Spike sees white splotches when he closes his eyelids.

Hound's hysterical babbling is almost too fast to understand, but it's impossible to do so, anyway, because he's speaking Cybertronian.

So, despite the almost frantic and pleading look he's giving the boy when he finally falls silent, Spike stays quiet for some seconds.

"If you repeat that slower and in English, I may be able to answer." The tracker's engine hiccups in what must be embarrassment, because the mech huddles a bit into himself with a small grimace.

"Sorry. I asked if you've developed a cure for this 'morning sickness'." The Autobot answers more calmly, and the boy frowns in confusion.

"Huh, no. It's not really a sickness." He quickly adds, an idea popping up. "It's called a 'sickness' because when people feel like they're going to throw up, they say they are going to be 'sick'. But it isn't deadly or anything."

"How can it _not be_?" Hound whispers, less horrified and more lost than before, and Spike ponders things to find the best way to explain.

"Well, even if they end up throwing up, pregnant women eat a lot, so it isn't like the baby will be lacking something." He finally sets for, and the Autobot relaxes so visibly, leaning forward, that he ends as half of his height. "Are _you_ alright?"

"Yes, yes. It's just… if a carrying Cybertronian was to suffer from this 'morning sickness', it would most likely lead to loss of the newspark, or deactivation of the carrier." Spike's mouth falls open as Hound straightens. "As I was about to say, one realizes they are carrying because the redirection of energy to the newspark lowers the carrier's energy levels drastically. It isn't cause of deactivation, it's just a warning, and the Cybertronian adjusts the energy intake once they know about the newspark, to have enough for both. But such an uncontrolled energy loss at the beginning of every orn? That… wouldn't be good." He finishes with a grimace, and the human winces in return.

"No, I guess not…" The boy whispers in return, shivering a bit.

"So, I had this friend, Dustraiser." Confused and startled by the sudden change in topic and the cheeriness in Hound's voice, Spike looks up with a questioning look. "We used to go for long drives a lot, to enjoy Cybertron's uninhabited areas. It was nice, and each memory set is worth treasuring, but there was this one time…" The tracker chuckles softly, and the teenager tilts his head, completely lost as to the point of all this. "We were about a joor away from Iacon—that would be about 6 hours—when he suddenly stopped. Scared me good, the slagger, when he didn't transform nor answer me. I was starting to think there was something really wrong with him when he finally went back to root mode, put his servos on his chest plates, and said, 'I'm carrying'." Spike's mouth drops open.

"Just like that?" Hound snickers a bit, plating tingling with its mirthful shaking.

"Yes, just like that. That's how things happen with us. Funny fact?" The boy nods, the mech's smile starting to become contagious. "I had to tow him back to Iacon, because his reserves had dropped so much between the drive and the beginning of the development that he didn't have enough to do so himself." The tracker laughs, and Spike finds himself doing so too.

Before he remembers what they talked about barely a minute before.

"Wait, wait. Didn't you say that the energy levels dropping so much could be dangerous?" He asks, more confused than worried.

"Yes, but we have fail-safes in place to avoid that, which is why Dustraiser knew he wouldn't be able to drive all the way back before his levels reached a low, though not yet dangerous, level, and his engine stopped. Also, the first wave of energy to the newspark after the confirmation is a big one, both to let the carrier know and to kick-start the newspark's development, but after that, the energy input to the newspark goes down to more constant and easily maintained levels, so there was no risk." The Autobot explains calmly, and the boy nods in understatement.

And then, Hound starts snickering again.

"Mech, wasn't that newspark a surprise, to the two of them." He muses out loud, once more attracting the teenager's curious gaze, and his prompting for an explanation. "Dustraiser had a mate, a… lifelong companion? What do you humans call those two individuals that decide to stay together during all of their function?"

"Well, that's usually married people. The man's the husband, and the woman's the wife." He answers a bit awkwardly, more so because now he knows there are no female Cybertronian.

"If you take that 'man' and 'woman' out of the equation, you could say that Dustraiser and Tensewire were married." Spike snickers at the thought, imagining two Cybertronian on the altar, one dressed in a tuxedo and the other in a white wedding dress. "And both of them were Minibots."

"Like Bumblebee and Cliffjumper?"

"The same frame-type, yes, but a different model." The boy frowns at that, but Hound just smiles calmly. "Gears and Huffer are also Minibots, but they're a different model that Cliffjumper and Bumblebee." And, feeling like an idiot for not putting two and two together, the teenager nods. "Well, they were Minibots, but their creation turned out to be a Cargo."

"I've heard that word before…"

"Prime's a Cargo." And Spike's world tilts dangerously, unwanted images coming back—

"I beg you, please tell me that there are no _physical_ changes in the carrying bot." He whimpers, trying really hard not to think about what _that_ means, remembering Ratchet's talk that they are just a spark before being transferred to their body—

"The only physical change is the lower energy levels and the increased energy consumption." Hound answers calmly, and the teenager lets himself fall on his back with a relieved sigh, all disturbing images finally vanishing. "Did I say something wrong?"

"No, no. It's just that humans grow physically, as in, their body, while they're developing in the mother's womb. So I first thought you guys grew like that, too." He explains, opening an eye to look at the dumbfounded tracker. "Yeah, silly me, huh?"

"Huh."

Spike starts to laugh at that and, after a second more to recover, Hound joins him.

"Well, I'm sure Dustraiser would be glad that isn't the case." The Autobot adds after they calm down.

And the teenager nods calmly, noticing for the first time the past tense, something that reminds him that the Cybertronian are in a war.

It's easy to forget, with the situation on Earth, about it, since the Decepticons act more like a group of cattle thieves with the Autobots being the town sheriff, as if the whole thing, despite its seriousness, was nothing more than a kid's cartoon.

_And today, the evil Decepticons will raid whatever place for a new weapon of mass destruction. Will the heroic Autobots arrive in time to stop them?_

He almost snorts at the thought, gaze lost in the pure blue sky.

Yes, it may feel silly at times, despite its importance to Earth, but, in truth, they all are refugees, Autobots and Decepticons both.

Cybertron is almost, if not completely, dead, most of the population either killed or gone, if the data the Autobots have on the number of troops—real troops, not drones—on each side is to be trusted—which it is.

And yet, here they are, always thinking about Earth and the humans first, instead of trying to cut the snake's head.

"You guys are too good." He tells Hound, who looks down at him with a curious look. "Just… thanks for everything."

"Anytime, Spike. We're all friends here, and I wouldn't be a good friend if I couldn't cheer you up or rescue you from boredom." The Autobot answers with a one optic reboot in a mimicry of a wink.

The teenager laughs, knowing the mech has taken it as thanking him for the ride and the story, instead of for taking care of his planet and species, but he's willing to let it slide.

"Hey, so, if the question isn't too invasive…" The tracker nods, and the boy sits up, feeling nervous as he remembers previous reactions. "Have you ever created?"

"Yes, and I have one successful creation." Hound answers happily, and Spike's mouth falls open.

"You have a child?" He repeats, astonished, and the Autobot nods.

"I do. No one you know." He adds, laughing loudly, at the boy's deep thinking frown. "We weren't specially close, either, and I don't know what happened after the war started, but… I like to think she got away." He sobers at that, though there's still a small proud smile on his faceplate.

"She? I thought you guys didn't have women?" The teenager asks softly, and Hound reboots his optics quickly before looking back at him with amusement.

"Perks of the language packages, it seems. Looks like it has identified 'femme' as a synonym of 'female' and has assigned it the female pronoun." He explains, chuckling a bit, and, at the lack of sadness or anger, Spike allows himself to smile back. "My Greenlight, who went to become a scientist. She always enjoyed being in a lab more than out in the wilderness, but hey, that's how things go. We are all different." He adds calmly, returning his gaze to the canyon and the vast emptiness of the surrounding desert.

"Hound?" The Autobot hums, turning to look at the human. "How could two Minibots create a mech like Prime?"

"Because the intermediate layer keeps coding from past spark-merges, sometimes for mere breems, others for vorns, or even for the rest of the Cybertronian's life. Also, when creating a newspark, some of the coding given to it, along the essential coding, may be that acquired from a different spark-merge, or even that from the creators' creators."

"Like, their grandparents?" Spike asks calmly, realizing that while looking like a previous partner would be a really wrong situation in humans, looking like another family member is not that different from what he's just been told.

"If that's the human designation for the creators of your creator, then yes." The tracker answers with a nod, and the teenager smiles.

"Wow. Talk about awkward." He snickers, and Hound gives him a confused look.

"It's not an uncommon occurrence in Cybertronian, even if having data from the creators' creators is a rare situation. Though I guess it would be to humans."

"Yes. For us, looking like family is normal, but looking like a guy who your mother hasn't seen in years?" He snorts, waving a hand in a 'no way' gesture. "If your kid doesn't look like blood-related family, it's most likely not yours."

"And you—oh, right." The tracker cuts himself, perking up a bit. "Nothing, I think I'm going to follow Ratchet's advice and let you have some time to process all the new data. So, Commander Witwicky, ready to head back to base?" He asks with a wide smile, getting up before transforming into his jeep alt mode.

"You bet, soldier!" He answers happily, getting into the car and putting the leather jacket on the passenger seat. "I can still be Commander without that on, can't I? Because it's too hot out here to wear it."

"Why, of course. A good Commander always knows what is best for his troops, and, right now, bringing you in healthy is the best for my continued functioning! I don't want Ratchet scolding me because you overheated." The whole jeep shudders before they pull away from the canyon, Spike's laughter loud enough to be heard over the engine.

* * *

**AN:** Own Dustraiser and Tensewire, but don't own Greenlight, even though the idea of having her be Hound's creation is mine. You can take them if you want, I only needed a scapegoat for Hound's story, but none of the cannon characters wanted to participate, so... *shrug*

Also, a nod to IDW in 'Commander Spike Witwicky' and 'Skywatch'. Couldn't not write it XP


	4. Decepticons

Jazz is waiting for them when they get back to the _Ark_.

He's leaning against the rock wall, smiling, visor dimmed to half its intensity, and bobbing his head along the rhythm of the music playing from his speakers.

"Hey there, how was your ride?" He asks when Spike gets off Hound to let him transform.

"Fun. And educative." The saboteur laughs at that before turning to the tracker.

"Could've used you here a couple breems ago." The green mech reboots his optics in surprise, for Jazz still looks calm and relaxed. "Ravage got in and got Laserbeak out."

"What? Where did they go?" Jazz just points and Hounds rushes to transform. "See you later, Commander!" And all that remains are words and dust.

And a confused Third in Command.

"Commander?" He repeats, looking down at Spike, who shrugs cockily, leather jacket slung over one shoulder and glasses still on.

"Why, don't you know? I'm Commander Spike Witwicky now." The Head of Special Operations lets his engine rev softly with an amused smile on his faceplate, before gesturing to the inside.

"Come on then, Commander Witwicky. I have something I'd like to show you." Curious, the boy follows and, after some minutes of only the music from Jazz's speakers, they arrive at their destination.

"Prowl's office?"

"He went after Ravage, but said I could show you this." The saboteur explains with a quick reboot of one half of his visor in a wink. "Come on, this will be _educative_." He adds with soft snickers, and Spike can't help but laugh a bit.

Once the Autobot has made himself at home on one of the chairs and helped the boy to the top of the table, he points at the monitor.

"We were looking over something and found this. We thought you needed to know, so…" Without another word, the mech clicks something and the black screen comes to life.

Soundwave and Starscream's murderous almost white optics stare back into surprised dark human eyes.

Spike can't help the shiver coursing through his body.

It doesn't help that, when he looks back at Jazz, the Autobot is completely serious.

"Those are two really angry mechs. And if what the twins and Bumblebee have told us is the truth, now that Laserbeak has escaped they will know who was behind that misunderstanding."

"But… it was a mistake, I didn't know…"

"No, you didn't." The Head of Spec Ops answers with a nod, voice firm yet soothing. "You just hope they decide to care about that."

Pale and feeling weak, Spike sits down on the table.

"What—Why—I—I understand they are angry, or offended, but…"

"Trust me, Spike. There are few offenses worse than what you unknowingly implied." The saboteur's dactyl feels warm as it strokes his back, and the boy concentrates on it.

"They are going to squish me, aren't they." Jazz doesn't answer, and, when he looks at him, the teenager sees his faceplates are schooled into complete lack of emotion, even the soft blue of his visor giving nothing away.

That's never good.

"As I said. Lets hope they decide to care about it being a misunderstanding." The boy whimpers, giving one quick look at the image onscreen before turning to the saboteur.

"But—Why? What did I say that was so bad?" Jazz's visor dims almost to blackness as he lets out a soft exhale in what would have been a human sigh.

"Alright. Decepticons are structured by power. Not just brute strength and processor development, but a combination of both. Even if sometimes one makes up for the lack of the other." The Autobot begins, taking back his servo to rest it in front of him on the desk. "What you implied isn't just a weakness, but the fact that the Command Hierarchy is maintained by interfacing favors, instead of power." Spike blinks in confusion for a moment before his eyes widen.

"You mean, that they are where they are because they've…" He fidgets a bit, embarrassed, before forcing the words out of his mouth. "Because of sexual favors?"

"Huh, no." The teenager frowns in confusion, and a small smile appears on Jazz's face. "If that was the case, they would be nothing more than… consorts, would be the most accurate term. No, they are Communications Officer, Air Commander, Second and Third because they've earned it. But the fact _Starscream_ is Second when everybot knows Soundwave's completely loyal to Megatron… _That_ may be explained by such a relationship."

"Relationship? But, I thought they couldn't stand each other?"

The Head of Spec Ops' smile turns… bitter? Sad?

"That can easily be explained as acting. Wouldn't be hard for _Decepticons_. And by relationship… Well, you don't create a newspark with every spark-merge, least of all a viable one. Sure, you might get lucky—or unlucky—and carry after just one merge, but that's pretty rare. Besides, Soundwave has three Flier Cassettes, so it would be logical to think that if 'Screamer is the creator of one, he may also be that of the other two." Spike nods, understanding that after everything he's been told, and Jazz's smile twitches, but doesn't grow. "So, that brings us back to the hierarchy. Why is a loyal mech lower in rank than a known traitor?"

The teenager's eyes widen, realizing that, despite all that's happened, this is the first time he has really asked himself that question.

"I… have no idea. To… keep Starscream in sight? You know, friends close and enemies closer?"

"They could just deactivate him and get rid of the problem. Or keep him in any other position that wasn't so high up." The saboteur points out, and the boy frowns. "But yes, that is the most likely answer. On the other servo, if you consider Starscream and Soundwave are in a long-term interfacing relationship, which includes frequent spark-merges… That changes everything."

"How so?" Jazz's constant small smile vanishes, and Spike almost regrets asking.

"Because you'd be implying one of the two submits to the other. Either Soundwave stays as Third in exchange for the interfacing, or Starscream has 'bought' his position as Second with it."

"Isn't that the same?" He whispers, slightly scared by the Autobot's seriousness.

"No. It depends which of the two _offered_."

Who bowed down first. Who was the one who would lower himself to that, either the loss of power for sex, or selling his body for power.

The teenager is starting to realize why their reactions were so extreme.

"And, as if that wasn't enough…" Startled, he looks up into the slightly darker visor, faceplates still schooled into such impassiveness that the Decepticon Third in Command would be proud. "That implies one holds control over the other, more so if you put the Cassettes in the equation." The boy's mouth opens to ask a question, but an almost threatening flash of the saboteur's visor makes him close it with a snap. "You don't mess with a Cassette-carrier's creations, and neither with a Seeker's. Usually, you only have the chance to do it once."

And Spike doesn't know how to take that, if it means they end dead or if the lesson is so well learned that they don't try again.

He doesn't want to know.

"So, better leave them some time to simmer and cool down. Prowl and I thought it better if you don't accompany us in the next skirmish, just in case." He nods numbly, and Jazz smiles again as nonchalantly and calmly as ever. "Glad we cleared that."

The boy nods once more before returning his attention to the screen, looking into those almost white optics and visor, the snarl on Starscream's faceplate, the tension of Soundwave's frame, how both mechs' servos are curled almost claw-like…

And he nods again, reaffirming Jazz's words.

He doesn't want to find out if they would take into account Spike didn't know any of that when he spoke.

"Hey, take it easy. Now that you know, you can make sure it doesn't happen again." The saboteur soothes with his usual easygoing attitude, turning off the monitor. "Wanna go see the twins and Bee? Prime got them on cleaning duty." He looks up quickly at that, stunned, and the Head of Spec Ops blinks in his peculiar way. "Wash-racks first, then the brig, and maybe those storage rooms that are barely used."

Which means filth and dust.

Sunstreaker's face is going to be awesome.

Jazz just needs to see his growing grin to help him down the table and guide him to the first stop.

* * *

Both the twins and Bumblebee are in a far better mood when they come pick him up the next weekend, and so is Spike when they tell him they're going to finally have that race.

His father laughs and agrees to come along, so while the teenagers gets into the VW Beetle, the older man takes the red Lamborghini, Sunstreaker refusing to carry a human if he can avoid it, due to their 'permanently shedding outer layer'.

It isn't until they are a couple miles out of town that the race really begins, and Bumblebee surprises them all by taking the lead, earning himself two squeaks from the twins and laughter from the humans.

"_Think you're going to get away that easy?_" The yellow Lamborghini challenges through the open comm line between the three Autobots, to which the humans are privy via their speakers.

"_This race is mine!_" His twin exclaims, and Spike can hear his father harrumph. "_I mean, ours. This race is ours._"

The others laugh at the peevish tone, before the other yellow car gets to the Beetle's side in a single burst of speed.

"_See you at the _Ark_!_" Sunstreaker exclaims before leaving them in a cloud of dust, Sideswipe being just a flash of red as he, too, rushes past them.

"_Last to the _Ark_ has to clean the wash-racks!_" The red Lamborghini exclaims happily, and Spike can only yelp when Bumblebee's burst of speed presses him against the seat.

"Oh, no! Not again!" The Beetle returns, quickly catching up to the bickering twins—

The speakers explode with static an instant before some kind of beams impact on the frontliners, the cars skidding madly on the road before colliding with each other, Bumblebee almost joining the pile before his brakes manage to stop him.

"Dad!" The teenager shouts, but the cloud of dust and the static still sounding through the speakers doesn't let him see or hear anything.

"Spike, get out! I'll try to—!" The scout's words cut short as another beam impacts against his hood, blinding the human for a second and making the car shudder as the static cuts out instantly.

"Bee! Bee, answer me!" Instead of his friends voice, what reaches his ears is a loud thumping sound that makes him jump a bit on his seat.

As he looks out the window, the teenager pales.

The cloud of dust is falling, but the giant silhouette isn't completely visible yet.

It doesn't need to be.

Those wings are completely unmistakable.

Spike rushes to the passenger seat and thanks all deities that Bumblebee had already unlocked the doors before the null-ray hit—because it can't be nothing other than a null-ray, since none of the Autobots exploded.

Quickly getting out of the car, he directs a last look at the Seeker, the dust around the head tinted red, before rushing to where he last saw the twins and his father—

He lets out a grunt as he collides with something cool yet warm, but feels no reassurance at realizing it is living metal.

He can feel the seams and empty spaces against his front that he's learned to recognize as dactyls, but the twins are—

The servo closes around him, firm yet not bruising, and he feels himself lifted quicker than he's used to or comfortable with.

A quick look confirms his suspicions that this is not another Autobot when he finds himself staring up into a red visor.

And then, he's thrown away.

The boy screams as he feels himself flying through the air, a collision once more driving the air out of his lungs, though a softer one this time.

Something wraps itself around his torso, binding him to whatever he's sitting on, before a light weight falls on his lap.

And then, he hears the whining of a plane's turbines, just before the click of the orange canopy closing mutes it.

"You try anything on him, and we'll see how well you fly." A well known though threateningly low voice fills the cockpit of the F-15 Falcon as the boy is pushed against the seat at the sudden acceleration.

Scared out of his wits, Spike can only clutch whatever is on his lap closer to his chest in search for comfort.

When he feels the rectangular form and sharp angles, the boy risks a look down, and pales at the confirmation his eyes give him.

Slightly dusty brown because of the desert sand, Soundwave is, nevertheless, easily recognizable.

Gulping nervously, the teenager relaxes his grip on the dark blue and white cassette player, but holds it firmly.

He really doesn't want to be thrown out of Starscream's cockpit.

What feels like an hour later, he feels the invisible force pressing him against the seat grow weaker and, an instant later, the seat belts have retracted and Spike finds himself falling through empty air.

His scream doesn't have time to grow to more than a squeak before he lands on a servo, but the dark faceplates and red optics staring down at him are anything but reassuring.

It only takes a second for Spike's fear to turn to confusion when he realizes that Starscream is looking amused, small smirk included.

"You can release Soundwave now."

The teenager blushes brightly when he realizes he's been clutching the cassette player tightly against his chest, as if to protect it from the impact.

The instant he releases his tight grip on it, it seems to fly to the Seeker's side while enlarging and changing shape.

A muffled thud later, the Decepticon Communications Officer stands next to the Air Commander, his emotionless face staring down at the human with his visor orangish-red.

With a softness he wasn't expecting, Starscream puts the boy on the ground before straightening, his amusement nowhere to be seen.

Spike takes a quick look around, seeing only more desert and no sign of any recognizable features all around them, before turning to the two Cybertronian.

Two. Only two.

No sign of Cassettes or other Seekers, even if they may be in Soundwave's chest compartment or flying too high for him to see.

Nevertheless, they are two too many, and those he really hoped he wouldn't see, to boot.

He's grown too relaxed this past week.

Before giving them another instant to squish him, even if he's not sure why they wanted to take him away for that, Spike gathers his courage and looks them in the eyes.

Er, optics and visor.

"I'm sorry." His voice sounds strong, but when the Decepticons don't react, he feels his confidence slowly evaporate, leaving him hunching a bit into himself and twiddling his thumbs in nervousness. "I—I didn't know anything about Decepticon hierarchy, and I didn't mean to imply anything with what I said, I just… I was curious and I didn't really understand what they were telling me, but Ratchet and Hound and Jazz explained afterward, and I realized I'd been really wrong and drawn all the wrong conclusions, because I was thinking more about how we humans reproduce since I didn't know anything about Cybertronian and—" He stops and takes a deep breath, feeling as if chocking after his rambling, but, before he can continue, he looks up at the Decepticons.

Starscream looks amused again, and Soundwave's visor is an orange color that, along his slightly tilted helm, make him look either curious or amused, too.

"Uh… Yeah, that. I'm sorry I made it sound like you two weren't where you are because of yourselves."

To Spike's astonishment, both of them nod.

"Looks like you were updated with the proper information, then." The Seeker muses out loud, his smirk widening in a gesture that, surprisingly, isn't as much threatening as it is satisfied.

The human jumps back all the same when Soundwave kneels down, never looking away from the human with his now usual red visor.

The teenager doubts a bit before deciding not to move, not knowing what to make of it all.

"Assumption: Erroneous. Suggestion: Never assume." The Communications Officer explains patiently, his usual monotone sounding strangely soothing, to the boy's confusion.

"Which is why you asked that back then, according to Laserbeak. Only, it wasn't the right question." Starscream adds nonchalantly, plating tingling in a Cybertronian shrug. "You should always ask, even if your questions may not be answered, but at least this way the other party knows you aren't knowledgeable about the subject, which helps identify possible misunderstandings."

"Laserbeak: Replayed full conversation. Human knowledge: Flawed and lacking. Situation: Misunderstanding." Soundwave adds, and Spike realizes, at last, that they aren't angry.

If they have heard the whole talk, they know the teenager knew nothing, and what he was explained. They realize it was a misunderstanding, and so are… trying to help?

"So you are… giving me tips so that this doesn't happen again." To the boy's astonishment, both of them nod. "Why?"

"Human: In need of explanation. Misunderstandings: Not enjoyable."

"In short, we don't want more idiocy spread around because of something easily solved." Starscream summarizes, tilting his helm with his optics strangely darker. "So, be sure to ask about all the details of any process or situation before starting to ask about individuals."

Spike nods, once more surprised at the lack of threat in both their voices and stances, his own hunched and fearful position relaxing.

"Will do." The Decepticons nod once more and, feeling bolder, and perhaps still stunned by everything, he finds himself speaking before he can stop himself. "Is Laserbeak your creation?"

The Seeker's engine rumbles, but it is in an amused snort-like equivalent, while Soundwave turns a darkened visor to his fellow mech before looking back at Spike.

"Negative. Laserbeak: Split spark creation." He answers calmly, the red gaze as bright as usual, and the boy nods.

"And the others?"

"Buzzsaw and Ratbat: Split spark creations. Ravage, Frenzy and Rumble: Spark-merge creations. Co-creator: Deactivated, unknown to Autobots." The Communications Officer answers easily, to the teenager's astonishment.

He wasn't really expecting an answer to his carelessly asked question.

"So, do you have any creations?" Starscream's calm visage turns quickly to a snarl at his inquiry, optics bright and dangerous, and Spike flinches back.

When he sees that, the Seeker forces his faceplates back into stoicism, crossing his arms over his chest plates.

Soundwave tilts his head with his visor flashing orange at that, but the Air Commander doesn't seem to pay attention to the subtle gesture.

"That is not of your incumbency." He answers, voice low and raspy, though not exactly threatening.

Glad he's avoided being squished once more, the boy nods.

"Sorry." The Seeker lets out a huff, looking away, and the Communications Officer turns back to the human.

"Questions: Must be asked. Answers: May not be given. Apologies: Unnecessary." Tilting his head in curiosity, Spike muses over that for a bit before nodding again.

"Alright. Uh, what are you going to do with me now?" He asks tremulously, and Soundwave finally gets back to his feet as Starscream uncrosses his arms.

"Do we look like we want a human pet?" The Seeker answers with a scowl, not giving the teenager another look before transforming, cockpit opening and engines still turned off. "Now, we get rid of you."

For a second, Spike stiffens, afraid that they're just going to go away and leave him alone in the desert, with no one knowing where he is.

But then, Soundwave grabs him once more and puts him down in the jet's seat, where the seat belts quickly envelop him.

A second later, he finds himself with a cassette player once more on his lap and the orange canopy closed, flying over the desert.

This time, he feels calm enough to look outside and enjoy the view, the canyons they pass over so fast that they're barely stripes of black or darker red, or even blue and green, and the occasional cloud over them, since they aren't flying all that high.

And then, a certain volcano becomes visible, and Spike finds himself smiling—

And laughing loudly when Starscream approaches to a safe distance from where the _Ark_ is protruding from the mountain side, and Ironhide and Trailbreaker's gobsmacked expressions come into view, both Autobots quickly straightening from where they were calmly leaning against the rocks, weapons charged and on the Decepticon, but not firing.

"Aw, I should have brought my leather jacket. That would have been the coolest thing ever." The boy moans softly as their speed decreases and they softly touch down.

"Query: To resemble a military officer." Soundwave asks, to the teenager's surprise, though he quickly recovers.

"Yes. I am Commander Spike Witwicky, head of Skywatch." He answers with a big smirk, and he hears snickering come through the speakers before the seat belts retract and the canopy opens.

Spike gets up, puts the cassette player on the seat, where the belts quickly secure him, and climbs out, landing on a wing before jumping down.

At the once more stupidly surprised expressions on the mechs faces, the boy snickers to himself.

"_I'm gonna send my pigeons to the sky, where they can fly hiiiiiigh!_" The teenager startles at the sudden music, turning quickly to the jet before a harsh rumble of the turbines and the sudden closing of the cockpit mutes it.

"Later, Commander!" Starscream's voice calls as the craft gets off the ground thanks to the anti-gravs, blasting away with the Seeker's usual speed after a blink.

When the dust finally settles, Spike turns to the Autobots—

And falls down laughing.

* * *

**AN:** I. Don't. Know. What. I'm. Doing.

What the _Pit_?! What happened here?! How did the chapter become _this_?! And how did I manage to get more headcanons out of _headcanons_?! This is like a game of Minesweeper, you uncover one cell, and you suddenly find yourself with a whole quarter of the area cleared for you to view all the juicy points... I don't want to know what happens when I find the bombs...

*Points accusingly to doe-eyed plot bunny* This story wasn't supposed to go this way! It was supposed to be a series of shots, some humorous and some darker, not turn into a completely independent story! *Plot bunny turns Totoro-sized and smiles widely as it gives a bear hug*

*Sigh* Guess I'm doomed to have all my stories get out of my hands, after all...

Sorry, forgot about this: The song is _I'm gonna send my pigeons to the sky_, by Golden Earring.

And, to those who noticed/are interested, the reason I didn't write a question mark after the 'Query: To resemble a military officer' is because Soundwave has already stated it's a _query_. You see, if he speaks always in a monotone, with barely any inflection, the sentence wouldn't sound like a question, which is why he adds 'query' before it (and why he's always 'suggestion', 'query', etc). That's another HC of mine, to explain why Soundwave speaks the way he does.


	5. Revenge

An hour after his 'kidnapping' by the Decepticons, Spike isn't laughing anymore.

While his father is uninjured and was already out of Sideswipe when a group of Autobots went to retrieve their companions, the three mechs are not fine.

Sure, they were hit by null-rays, but the effects have been greatly enhanced, to the point Ratchet can only sigh and tell them that the best thing is to wait for the effects to pass on their own.

And, as if that isn't all, the affected Autobots' sensory networks shut down after about five minutes of the initial hit.

Which means they know the Decepticons took Spike, but not that they've been rescued and the boy is fine.

"They really managed to get their revenge." Ratchet growls softly, looking at the three cars on a cleared part of the Repair Bay, leaning against the table over which are the two humans.

Sparkplug is still keeping an arm around his son's shoulders, even after being reassured that nothing happened to him, but the teenager doesn't protest.

He's been worried about him too.

"So, if I've understood this right, Soundwave and Starscream showed up to _teach_ Spike about the mess of last week, and to pay the twins and Bumblebee back for laughing at them?" The older man asks, and Ratchet revs his engine while Prowl and Optimus, who are going over the boy's tale, now written on a datapad, nod.

"Yes. Spike's misunderstanding was to be corrected to avoid future repetitions, which is what we set to do as soon as we became aware of the problem." The tactician explains before turning to look at the three paralyzed mechs. "Yet, their actions were to be punished, for they knew the meaning of every word and the consequences of such assumptions, and those are intolerable, both for them as individuals and for their positions in the Decepticon hierarchy. Since their actions were deliberate, they searched for the more effective punishment."

"And what could be worse for us, who have taken you in as comrades and friends, who have sworn to protect you, than to know one of you would suffer for _our_ decisions, our actions?" Prime adds, sad and disappointed, as he shakes his helm slowly. "To know their rashness brought about Spike's kidnapping and to leave them isolated from the world, to lose themselves in their imaginings, in the worst case scenarios their processors can conjure… That, is the cruelest punishment."

"Worst of all will be when they finally break out of it and see you are alright, for now they know what could happen if something like this was to repeat itself again. And you might not be so lucky next time." Ratchet ends with a scowl. "Playful Decepticons, as if the normal ones weren't bad enough."

"Actually, I was the one to tell them about 'Commander' Witwicky." The teenager answers sheepishly, and his father chuckles softly.

"Did you tell Soundwave to play that song?" The medic asks, and the boy's laughter at the memory may seem accusing, but the ambulance knows the truth. "I'm surprised Starscream didn't just let him fall after taking off."

"Well, he wasn't all that happy." Spike snickers, sobering after a couple of seconds.

"Just to make sure, they told you to always ask if there was something you didn't understand, to either explain or, at least, know that you had no information about the topic." Prowl repeats, and, as the four times before, the boy nods.

"And they said not to apologize if the question was uncomfortable, that it was better to know the answer or the lack of knowledge than to assume and end up in another mess like this one. Soundwave even answered a couple of my questions." Three pairs of optics are suddenly on him, and Spike realizes with a start that he hasn't told them about said inquiries. "Oh, right. I asked him if Laserbeak was really his and Starscream's, and he said that no, that he's a split spark creation. And that Buzzsaw and Ratbat are too, but that Ravage, Frenzy and Rumble are co-created. Also, the co-creator is deactivated and you don't know who he is." He summarizes, and, after a quick reboot of their optics, Ratchet revs his engine in amusement.

"His Flier Cassettes are the split sparks? Are you sure he wasn't mocking you?" The medic asks, as Prowl's doorwings twitch while he writes something more to the report.

"Could have been." The boy answers with a shrug, because Soundwave _is_ a Decepticon after all. "At least _he_ answered."

"You asked Starscream something?" Prime's voice is full of curiosity, as are his optics, as he turns to the boy, the other two Cybertronians' attention fully on him, too.

"I asked him if he had creations and… well, that was the first time since they took me that he got angry. He said that it was 'none of my incumbency', so I let it slide. Soundwave looked kind of curious, though." He muses out loud, remembering the slight tilt of the dark blue helm and the orangish color of his visor as the Seeker fumed. "And then, they brought me back."

Spike looks at the Autobots, at Ratchet's calm as he scans the paralyzed mechs once more, at Prowl's darkened optics seemingly staring at nothing as his doorwings twitch softly, and at Optimus' searching gaze fixed on his Second in Command.

Confused by the two high ranked officers' behavior, the teenager keeps looking.

The tactician's optics brighten slowly and, with a sharper twitch of one doorwing, he seems to realize he's the focus of the Prime's stare.

The Datsun turns to look at his superior and reboots his optics quickly in what may either be confusion or curiosity.

And then, all in the room startle as the black and white mech's doorwings flare wide open and hitch up, optics flashing almost white as his features become sharp and his engine gives a short but powerful roar.

Prime takes a couple of steps back and quickly looks to the ground.

A quick look at the medic shows him completely still and also staring at the floor.

After a second of uncomfortable quietness, Prowl's doorwings move back to their normal position and his optics dim to a more calm clear blue, returning to the datapad as if nothing had happened.

When Optimus goes to Ratchet to ask if anything has changed with the paralyzed mechs, acting as if _really_ nothing had happened, the two humans exchange a look.

Steeling himself, the teenager straightens and turns to the Datsun—

But the whirring of gears and coughs of engines makes his attention go to the transforming frontliners and scout.

He has barely managed to put a smile on his face when the three of them assault the medic and the Prime in a panic, speaking quickly in Cybertronian.

The other two Autobots answer calmly and, after something the medic says, they all turn to stare at the humans on the table.

Three wide and relieved smiles tamper down to more subdued ones as Prowl steps next to the Witwicky's, before turning absolutely embarrassed and remorseful.

While Prime starts some kind of speech, still in Cybertronian, and Ratchet pokes and prods at the three scolded mechs, the teenager looks up at the tactician, who has amused pale blue optics fixed on the rest of Autobots.

"What is going on?" He asks softly, and the doorwings give a soft twitch but the Datsun doesn't look away.

"Prime is telling them how disappointed he is." He answers simply and, after a look at the frontliners and scout, Spike has to fight to keep his snickers silent. "I can assure you, after this is over, they will never mock the Decepticons again about something even remotely related to you humans."

And that is what makes the Witwicky break down in laughter.

That, and the small, almost not there, amused smile on the Second in Command's lips.

So, when Optimus is done with the lecture and Ratchet with the examinations, father and son just accept the three mechs apologies and ask to be taken to the rec room for a couple of rounds of one of the games there.

Sideswipe, Sunstreaker and Bumblebee smile widely and transform, resuming their race in the corridors of the _Ark_, much to Prowl's annoyance, if the sound of sirens after them is any indication.

The five of them only laugh harder.

* * *

"So, what will be today's lesson?" Spike asks as he sits down on the table, his father with him.

Ratchet gives them a quick look before returning to whatever he's tinkering with.

"Well, I've been told you know the basics of creation already, so we could either move to another topic or you can keep asking about this one." The medic answers calmly, and the boy grimaces.

"Yeah, right. As if I wanted to know the specifics of the 'creating' moment." The teenager grumbles under his breath, and the older man snorts.

"Well, since Spike won't ask, I will." Sparkplug answers louder, almost cheerfully, and receives a nod from the mech and a wide-eyed pleading look from his son. "The bodies of your creations. How do you make them?" Ratchet stops his tinkering and looks up impressed.

"Good question. We don't 'make' them so much as create the basic Newspark Protoform and let the newspark modify it. Wait a moment." The humans' open mouths close, silencing their questions, as the ambulance goes to some drawers and starts rummaging. "The protoform is the innermost structure of any Cybertronian, our skeleton and vital organs, you may say. There's also the main sensor net and, depending on each individual, there may be some cosmetic armor plates. Some even have weapons, but that's—here it is!" With a big smile and a datapad in hand, the medic closes the drawer and approaches the humans. "This is a Newspark Protoform." And he shows them the image on the screen.

The best the teenager can think about when he sees it is the robotic skeleton of _The Terminator_. Though with some more plates on arms and legs.

"When the newspark reaches the end of the maturation, it is transferred to the Newspark Protoform. Then, the energy it has accumulated during the development is released in a strong burst, jump-starting all systems and copying the coding to the processor. The power also allows the protoform to modify itself according to the coded in specifications." A dactyl touches one of the many rows of weird symbols on one side of the page, a completely different column appearing and another line selected, and the image changes.

Before the Witwicky's awed eyes, the robotic body's parts start to move and, in some cases, modify, until the resulting mech has a bigger and more exposed form.

Spike takes a look at the squared chest and the pointy protuberances in place of ears, and does a double-take, the being suddenly more familiar.

"Is that a… one like Prime?" He asks softly, and Ratchet nods with a smile.

"A Trailer Roller model of the Cargo frame type." The mech answers easily, and the boy beams up at him.

"Can you show us more? Other mechs? How about a Minibot?" The medic's amused smile grows, and, with a nod, he presses something on the screen that turns the protoform back to its original state.

Before he can input the new orders, though, the alarms go off.

"Looks like it'll have to wait for later." The ambulance growls, quickly putting the pad on the first available drawer and helping the humans down the table. "Shall we go see what those Decepticons have done now?" He asks as he transforms, doors open, and none of the humans hesitate to get in.

* * *

They are a safe distance away from the unstable nuclear facility that is the battleground, but Spike feels more endangered than he would be next to the cracked walls.

Mostly because there's only his father with him, all the Autobots battling the Decepticons.

But not all the Decepticons are battling the Autobots.

Frenzy and Rumble's threatening sharp smiles only widen as the humans take a step away from the Cassettes.

"Aw, what are those scaredy faces for, fleshies? There's nothing to fear." The red and black Cybertronian snickers with a too sweet voice.

"Of course not. After all, we're only trying to help." His twin adds with a darker tone, visor flashing dangerously. "Help the Decepticons get rid to you, help the Autoscum clean their ship of pests, and help your miserable existences by bringing an end to them."

"Oh, yeah? I'd like to see you try, Decepticreeps." The teenager retorts, but takes another step away from the Cassettes as their arms transform into drills and pile-drivers, respectively.

"Shouldn't you be, I don't know, carrying cubes, or helping fight the Autobots?" Sparkplug cuts in as the threatening small mechs slowly trap them against a rocky formation.

"As much as we would love to kick Autobot aft—"

"—we have unfinished business with you vermin."

Spike's brain winds to a stop, before he suddenly remembers a teeny tiny detail.

If someone insulted his father, he would immediately defend him.

Frenzy and Rumble are Soundwave's creations, his 'children'.

And there was a certain misunderstanding about the Second and Third in Command of the Decepticons…

"Is this about the mess with Soundwave and Starscream? Because I talked with them, it was a misunderstanding! We already cleared it!" Both Cassettes let out sharp bursts of air, as if snorting.

"Cleared it with _them_. But it won't be over until we make sure you can't keep spewing such slag!" Frenzy answers with a snarl, pointing a drill at them, and the humans exchange a look of slight despair.

_"Even if I can't see how _creation_ will ever be useful to get out of a situation… unless you _purposefully_ twist it to make others fritz."_

Spike's eyes widen, and the look his father gives him can only be translated as 'please, tell me you're not about to do something stupid that could potentially get us killed'.

The teenager mentally crosses his fingers as he turns to the Decepticons and steels himself.

"Is it?" Both Cassettes' smiles and snarls turn to confusion. "Slag, I mean. Or are you trying to cover up your creator's affair?" Visors flash almost white as Sparkplug groans in a 'we're doomed' way.

"_What_?!"

"You know, they're both pretty high in the chain of command, which means they must be really busy, and busy people tend to get really tense. And what better way to release some tension than to spend some quality time with another mech?" Frenzy's drills turn on and off in what would have been twitching fingers, his optical band frizzling slightly with static, as Rumble gapes like a fish out of the water, pile-drivers lowering slowly as if their weight is too much for his shoulders to support. "Plus, I've heard there are some advantages in being with a Seeker. You could get another flying sibling." Both twins let out bursts of static as they shake worse than leaves in a storm. "Also, being with someone so different means there's more to explore, more to try… Tell me, what would Soundwave do with Starscream's wings?"

Silence.

And then, with a sound like a shot, the red and black Cassette's visor goes black and he falls lifelessly to the ground.

His twin's jaw follows, almost literally, but he's still online, even if his optical band is flashing so badly that Spike sees many new shades of red in it for the first time in his life.

The next sound isn't a cough of an engine or the crash of metal on rock, but Rumble's snarl, and Spike swears in his head as the Decepticon looks at them with the most murderous look ever.

"Looks like that backfired." Sparkplug hisses as they step away from the almost literally smoldering Cassette.

"Um."

"I'm. Going to squish you. So badly. That you'll be _evaporated_ by the time the Autobots get here!" The blue mech shrieks loud enough to make their ears ring, jumping towards them—

And stopping midair as two dark blue servos envelop his torso.

Still shrieking like a banshee—or like Starscream, but Spike isn't going to say that out loud—Rumble trashes madly in the hold, not even thinking about transforming his pile-drivers back to servos to try to get rid of the bigger ones instead of just pushing against them.

Soundwave gives the humans a look, visor almost orange in what the boy is beginning to recognize as curiosity, as he straightens, pulling his creation up to chest level.

A quick look at the immobile black and red frame at his feet later, the bigger Decepticon turns his attention to the wary humans pressed against the rocks as if they could phase through them.

"Query: What happened."

"Huh… Self defense?" The teenager supplies without much thinking, not knowing how to interpret the fact he's been saved from a crushing death by their assailant's father picking the Cassette up like one would a hissing kitten.

"Query: What was said." Spike feels himself blush softly at that, looking between the still orangish visor and the screeching Rumble in Soundwave's servos before turning to the tape deck.

"I kinda… made them imagine you and Starscream together." The Communications Officer's visor flashes, but it quickly returns to its usual red instead of going to that menacing almost white, blue and white plating tingling softly in what the boy doesn't know if it's self-restraint or amusement.

"Human: Would make a fine Decepticon." Spike's mouth falls open.

Is he… congratulating him on his strategy to put Frenzy out of commission?

Plating tingles again at the teenager's dumbfounded look, and he finally realizes amusement is the reason behind it, as well as the paling of the visor.

Huh.

"Query: Words to anger Rumble." Spike takes a second to think the question over before deciding that answering is the better course of action, more so with the good humor the other is apparently in.

"I asked him what would you do with Starscream's wings." Soundwave's visor flashes again, and Sparkplug hisses a bit when a soft tremor, like the vibrations of a bass, fills the air.

After a second putting together the sound with the once more orangish visor and the tilt of the helm, the teenager reaches a disturbing conclusion.

The Decepticon is chuckling.

"Query: Want me to answer."

Silence.

Even Rumble has stopped his shrieking, now bending almost impossibly as he tries to meet his creator's visor.

The bass thrumming is heard again as Soundwave's helm tilts slightly further, as if urging the answer, and Spike stumbles over his words.

"I—Huh—Are you—I mean—That is—I'd rather—Isn't it—I don't—"

"Answer: Tactile overload."

The Cassette's visor flickers almost audibly before turning black, his blue body slumping in the Communications Officer's hold.

Without another word, the tape deck leans down to grab Frenzy and walk away.

The Coneheads sweep down, opening their cockpits to let Soundwave put one Cassette in each before transforming himself and jumping into the third, and they fly away.

"Spike, Sparkplug!" Both humans turn sharply to the approaching cloud of dust, Bumblebee, the twins and Jazz quickly transforming once they're close enough, the frontliners snarling after the vanishing jets. "Are you alright?"

"Yes…" The man answers, rubbing his face with a tired sigh. "I can't believe that really worked."

"Halfway." The teenager adds softly, shaking his shock off. "Guys?" All Autobots minus the saboteur turn to him, the Porsche touching his helm in answer to an unheard communication. "What is tactile overloading?"

"Tactile overloading?" All four repeat, even the Head of Spec Ops turning to them with visor pale blue in surprise.

"Soundwave said he was going to do that with Starscream's wings."

Silence.

"Soundwave told you he was… going to overload Starscream by tactile interfacing with his wings." Jazz not-asks, mouth agape and optical band almost white as his helm tilts like the neck can't support the weight anymore.

The twins' fans roar to life as Bumblebee falls to the ground covering his audio receptors.

"_Jazz_!"

Both the Autobot and the humans jump in surprise at the bellow and, as one, turn to look at the nuclear plant and the colorful shapes in front of it.

Though, only four are standing, the rest either falling down or already sitting down, and there's a faint sound being carried over the distance, like pleading or shouting in horror…

Ratchet's murderous scowl isn't visible so far away, but Spike's sure the white light on his helm isn't a reflection of the sun.

"Oops."

* * *

**AN:** One more chapter, and early update 'cause I feel like it :D

Mixed chapter, yet again, and the plot-that-shouldn't-be keeps developing, the slagging thing... Oh well, what can I do but let it grow? 'Sides, it may be interesting to see where it goes...


	6. Things better left unsaid

Jazz is almost literally buried in datapads when the teenager enters his office, helm against the desk and only a soft mechanical whine echoing in the room, since his music collection has been requisitioned and all radio signals are jammed.

Spike feels a tinge of guilt at the saboteur's plight, even if he knows he's exaggerating in his defeated position, but, after all, if he hadn't asked what he did when the other was on the comm, the rest of the Autobots wouldn't have known and, consequently, there wouldn't have been any crashed processors for Ratchet to monitor.

Nevertheless, there's no other 'Bot the teenager can think about to get an answer out of, which is why he's come to the Third in Command's office, his father deciding to stay with Wheeljack and Perceptor to clear the incident from his head.

"Jazz?"

"Wha."

The human has to wince at the miserable tone of voice, and, for a second, he doubts it's an act. Forcing the saboteur to deal with all his paperwork without even an Energon break is bad, knowing how the mech is, but taking his music away is almost torture.

"I, huh, wanted to ask you something. But, if it's a bad moment…" A black servo waves negatively before gesturing for the teenager to approach.

When he gets to the feet of the chair, Jazz looks down with his visor a curious pale blue.

The boy smiles at that, letting himself be pulled on a cleared part of the table as the Head of Spec Ops pushes the pads into a messy pile.

"Shoot, Spike. Anything to distract me from _this_." The mech answers with a human-like grimace as he gestures vaguely towards the datapads, something the Autobots sometimes do as a show of exaggeration.

"I still don't know what tactile overloading is. Or how it could be used on Starscream's wings."

Silence.

And then, a high-performance engine rumbles in amusement as the saboteur grins widely.

"Ah, that's right. Well, m'dear Spike, a tactile overload happens during tactile interfacing. An overload is a release of a powerful wave of energy that usually accumulates during the interface, and it's something that makes you feel really, _really_ nice." Jazz's smirk widens almost shark-like, but falls silent.

Confused and a bit unnerved by the sight, the teenager ponders the words, trying to remember when he has heard the word 'interface' before, and how it being tactile could lead to a rush of… of feeling… _nice_…

Not knowing if he should pale or blush, and remembering a shuddering medic as he consulted a certain word, the boy looks up at the still Cheshire Cat-like grinning Autobot.

"Interfacing… is it like… sex?" He squeaks, and, to his confusion, the smirk vanishes as the clear visor darkens.

And then, Jazz straightens with a yelp and a full body shudder.

"_Primus_! What the Pit is _that_!" Startled by the mech's reaction, the teenager takes a couple of steps back as the saboteur shakes his helm almost violently. "_That_ is organic interfacing? It's _gross_! And how does that cable—_No_, enough! I don't want to know!" He shouts, covering his helm with his servos and hunching down, visor completely black.

Silence.

"Jazz?"

No answer.

Fearing he's managed to get another mech to crash—again—the boy cautiously approaches and taps a forearm plate.

The Autobot almost jumps out of his chair at the touch, visor flashing pale blue before focusing on the human.

"Oh. Sorry. I was quarantining certain data files." The saboteur answers with a grimace and yet another shudder, but calms down after that. "Now, how do I explain this…" He grumbles, tapping the side of his helm almost absentmindedly. "There are three different ways of interfacing, mainly, and they can happen at the same time, if it's wanted. But the basis of all interface is make yourself and the other Cybertronian, or Cybertronians, feel good and overload. It has _no relation_ to creation, it just exists for the purpose of overloading. Kinda." The mech lets out a harsh burst of air with a small scowl, leaning back on his seat with his visor darkening. "Though I guess it has some semblance to your 'sex'—" The shudder is loud with the clinking of plating, and Spike frowns in confusion. "—in the human way of giving and receiving pleasure just for the sake of it." He adds in a mutter, as if reluctant to admit both processes have anything similar.

Nevertheless, despite the saboteur's view on things, his words are more than enough to let the boy finally realize what interfacing is and, consequently, what the equivalent of the overload that happens during it and makes one feel good is.

"Al… right… I think I get it now." He answers awkwardly, fumbling a bit on his feet.

"Good. Now, tactile interfacing is when there's no hardline connection between the participants, only the servos being used. Or the glossa. Or the—"

"Jazz!" The teenager cuts with a squeak, mortified, and the Autobot gives him another shark-sized grin.

"Glad to see you get it." He answers cheerfully, and Spike covers his face with his hands, muffling a groan.

Of all the mechs to ask about 'Cybertronian sex', he had to find the one with no shame.

"About your second question…" The boy's eyes widen as he quickly looks at the saboteur, a pensive expression on his faceplate. "I'm sure Soundwave was messing with us."

That… is not what he was expecting.

"Huh?"

"Think about it. They denied rather vehemently any kind of relationship between themselves, so why would Soundwave say he was going to interface with Starscream, even if it's tactile? The answer would be to have all the crashes and processor-scarring that happened, happen. Which means he was using you as a piece of his psychological warfare."

_"Human: Would make a fine Decepticon."_

Spike grimaces exaggeratedly, almost gagging at the thought and shivering a bit, feeling kind of dirty.

"Just. _Great_." He spits, rubbing his arms as if that could help get rid of the feeling, and Jazz watches with amusement clear on his faceplate and pale visor.

"You're a funny being." The Autobot receives a deadpanned look at that, but just snickers with a soft rev in answer. "Though, you know, now I'm curious." Stopping in his tracks, the boy carefully looks up at the saboteur, who is, effectively, looking up at the ceiling with his visor a pale blue that he's learned to recognize as curiosity. "Seeker wings are said to be really sensitive, but I've never seen any of the 'Cons react like they should in situations where…" The Head of Spec Ops straightens so suddenly on his seat that the human jumps a bit in surprise, immediately taking a step back at the too wide smile of realization. "Duh, of course!" And then, he presses a couple of dactyls against the side of his helm and chirps something in the comm.

A couple seconds later, Jazz's smile seem to widen even more, impossibly as that looks like, and turns to Spike.

"Take a seat, my friend. We're going to have a nice long conversation about wings." He tells the boy cheerfully, and the teenager instinctively looks at the edge of the table, trying to calculate if he would be able to jump down without breaking a limb.

Before he has a chance to think his escape plan further, the door opens and Smokescreen enters with a curious look.

"Hey there, guys. What'd you want me here for, Jazz?" The red and blue Autobot asks as he sits on the edge of the desk, looking between the human and the still madly grinning saboteur.

"Spike here asked a couple of questions about interfacing, and I seem to have trouble answering one of them." The Head of Spec Ops answers easily, and blue optics reboot in surprise.

"And you called me here instead of just asking? What, are you thinking about giving a practical demonstration?" The teenager squeaks and steps back, stumbling with his own feet and falling on his rear.

Jazz bursts out laughing.

"No, no. Pit, I don't think Spike's processor could stand that." He manages to answer after calming his laughter, and Smokescreen looks almost disappointed.

The teenager shakes his head and decides he's just imagined the look.

"Nah, I just wanted some data on Seekers."

"Seekers?" The doorwinger repeats, startled, as he turns on the table to fully stare at the other mech, leaning forward a bit. "What kind of information would you want about Seekers that _I_ could have? Surely you know more than I do."

The saboteur opens his mouth to retort—

And closes it with a calculating look.

"Well, it isn't as if I could ask Bluestreak." He muses, almost to himself, and the Praxian's doorwings twitch.

"How about Prowl?"

Silence.

And then, both Autobots shudder with grimaces on their faceplates.

"Yeah, right. I didn't say anything. But…" The almost pained look turns pensive as Smokescreen looks at the wall.

"Not Prowl." Jazz cuts quickly, glaring at the other mech, and is nonchalantly dismissed by a wave of a servo.

"No, not Prowl. But maybe Skyfire?" They exchange a look, silent for a couple of seconds, before both nod in unison. "Yeah, Skyfire it is." The red and blue Autobot answers himself as his optics dim in the tell-tale sign of talking through a comm line.

"Why can't you ask Prowl about Seekers?" Spike asks Jazz, calmer at last and curious once more, and the saboteur gives him a blank look.

"'Cause he wouldn't answer. And then, he would want to know the reason why we were asking about them, and that would… To put it mildly, it's not a good idea." Frowning at the vague, almost useless, answer, the teenager looks away.

What are the Autobots hiding?

"Hey, Spike, what's that face for?" The red and blue mech asks, poking him softly with a dactyl, and the boy looks up.

"Why can't you ask Prowl about Seekers?"

Silence.

"Spike, I've told you—"

"I'm asking Smokescreen." He cuts the saboteur and, to the teenager's hidden surprise, the Head of Spec Ops stays silent.

"Well, he wouldn't answer, so it's kind of a loss of time to ask." The Praxian answers easily, doorwings twitching in the equivalent of a shrug.

"And the other reason?"

Silence.

The two Autobots exchange an unreadable look, and the boy scowls.

"Lets just say that the war has hurt every bot." Jazz finally whispers, visor dark, as Smokescreen looks away, doorwings lowering.

Perfect. Now Spike feels bad for asking.

Fortunately—or unfortunately, because now he can't apologize—there's a soft chime before the door opens, Skyfire's gigantic body hiding the corridor.

"Just the mech we wanted to see! Come on in, big buddy." The saboteur welcomes warmly, gesturing for the shuttle to enter.

A quick look shows Smokescreen looking as cheerful as ever, but that doesn't ease the teenager's guilt.

"How can I help you?" The flier asks calmly, letting the door close behind him as he takes a seat on one of the big and extra reinforced chairs that are in every office.

"Spike asked something and we found ourselves without answers, so we thought maybe you could help. Is about the sensitivity of Seeker wings." The Head of Spec Ops explains calmly, and, surprised, Skyfire turns to look at the doorwinger, who gives him a sheepish smile.

"Went to Iacon as soon as I could." Is the Praxian's answer, which seems to be enough for the shuttle as he nods.

"Alright. Well, all Flier's wings are sensitive, since we need to feel our surroundings clearly to fly. Since Seekers are the fastest of us, their sensors aren't just more numerous, but also with a higher sensitivity to be able to detect even the smallest of changes in time for them to react." The scientist explains calmly and, making himself comfortable on the table, the human nods in understanding. "Now, wouldn't this question be somehow related to Soundwave's joke?"

Spike snickers at the abashed look on the other two Autobots and the knowing small smirk on Skyfire's lips.

Until he realizes a tiny detail of the question's wording.

"Joke?" He repeats, looking at the shuttle, who gives him a smile and nods.

"Yes. As I've said, Seeker wings are really sensitive, so they don't let anybot get close to them just that easily. Besides, reaching for a Cybertronian's wings without consent is something that never happens." And that sounds like a certainty, like a Law of the Universe.

Like the concept of even lifting a hand too close to a wing—or doorwing, because Skyfire said Cybertronian, not Flier—is a physical impossibility.

"Why?"

The three mechs look at each other with pensive frowns, and Smokescreen's doorwings twitch before pressing to his back.

"Well, it's kind of an unspoken law, you may say." The red and blue Autobot answers, looking down, as the appendages on his back lift and lower with soft twitches. "Trying to mess with wings, any kind of them, is asking to get hurt."

Still slightly confused, though realizing that he's never seen any Autobot even step close to a wing or doorwing, Spike nods.

"It's something more cultural, then?" The three mechs nod with relief, glad that their human friend has understood. "Then, why did Frenzy and Rumble crash? And the others?"

Skyfire's powerful engine rumbles in laughter as the two ground-bound Cybertronian's fans come to life.

"Because if that was the truth, do you know the level of trust Starscream and Soundwave would share? And if they trusted each other enough to let Soundwave play with Starscream's wings, what else wouldn't they do?" The shuttle answers with a wide smirk and glinting blue optics that, somehow, remind the teenager of the Decepticon Second in Command.

Jazz's visor darkens to what can only be describe as a sultry azure as Smokescreen's dorwings shiver in apparent delight.

"Now, come Spike. You need to see Wheeljack and Sparkplug's new invention." The Flier adds almost cheerfully, standing up and letting the human climb on his hand before exiting the office.

"I don't want to know what they were thinking, do I."

Skyfire's rumbling engine just grows louder in laughter.

* * *

To say Spike's surprised would be an understatement, and his gobsmacked expression makes it all the more clear as he stares at the small—for a Cybertronian—square device in front of him, each of it's sides as wide as the teenager's back.

"You're trying to make a null-ray." He finally manages to repeat, looking at his father and the two Autobot scientists around the worktable, the shuttle smiling with amusement as he looks over some flasks filled with colorful liquids on another.

"Yes. That's supposed to be the power converter, the piece that allows the shot to disrupt the energy flow and paralyze a machine or a Cybertronian without permanently damaging them, though we haven't quite managed that yet." Wheeljack explains, looking sheepish. "We've only managed to blow the test subjects up." He adds, pointing to a pile of blackened parts that the boy can't even begin to recognize.

"You're trying to make a null-ray." He repeats again, firmer this time, after a shake of his head, turning to look at the amused Flier tinkering with his chemicals. "And you're not helping?"

The only sound in the room is the humans' own breathing, before the shuttle turns his optics offline while putting the flasks down.

"No, I'm not helping. And I'm not going to." He finally answers, as calm as always, but still not looking at anything.

"Why?"

"Because this is a glitch-fated endeavor. No matter what they try, they won't be able to create a successful null-ray. So, I'd rather busy myself with things that have better odds of working out than zero percent." Confused by those words, and even more so by the nonchalant tone of the shuttle, the boy turns to the other two Autobots.

Wheeljack's helm-fins flash a dark blue in defeat as Perceptor stares intensely at their fellow scientist's back.

When he sees the microscope's reaction, the inventor gestures for the humans to step away as he reaches for a red shoulder.

"Perceptor, don't—"

"That's what he always says, Wheeljack. Always the same, that it's no use trying, only _Starscream_ could pull that out." The usually calm mech scoffs, and the humans exchange a look.

Skyfire doesn't move, but the white and green Autobot steps between them nevertheless.

"Perceptor, we've been over this. If he doesn't want to help, that's his decision. We will just keep trying, and he can take care of whatever else comes up. It's a win-win situation, really, since we won't be distracted by other projects—"

"It is _not_ a 'win-win situation', if one of the only two mechs who know the schematics refuses to share them. Tell us, Skyfire, is it so wrong for the Autobots to be in possession of a non-lethal weapon?"

Wheeljack groans as he steps away, going to the Witwicky's side, as the shuttle's wings tremble softly.

"Here we go again." The Lancia mutters almost inaudibly, his optics turning black as he lets his helm hang down in something similar to defeat.

"It isn't wrong." The Flier answers almost casually, not moving. "It's just that this specific weapon is out of your reach."

"Oh, it's 'our' reach now? Then, what is the brand on your chest plates for?"

The silence that blankets the lab is filled with tension and, chancing a look at the white and green Autobot, Spike sees his optics a blue almost as pale as that of his head-fins, signifying surprise.

Slowly, Skyfire straightens, and, to their utter astonishment, there's a soft sound like that of transformation coming from him.

The teenager lets out a muted 'oof' as a servo clenches shut around his torso, the world moving crazily for a second before he realizes Wheeljack has grabbed both humans and moved to stand next to the still closed door, his whole body trembling as the shuttle turns around.

Spike has to blink a couple of times and shake his head before realizing that no, he's not seeing things, Skyfire's wings are _really_ moving.

And to a threatening position, to boot.

Judging by the inventor's reaction, he thinks the same, as they are all unable to look away from the white and red planes hitching higher on the shuttle's back and fanning wide open, like a bird opening its wings to make itself look larger.

Perceptor takes a step back and hunches down a bit, body tense and not looking so calm and confident anymore.

In fact, he looks almost scared as he looks at his surroundings.

"The brand on my chest marks me as an Autobot, Perceptor. It doesn't mean I'm _stupid_." There's a soft thrumming filling the room, and it's so much like the shuttle's rumbling laughter but so menacing and dark that it's hard to believe it comes from the large mech's engines. "The null-rays are Starscream's _custom-made_ weapons, so carefully built to fit _his_ frame, that unless you have a way to clone Starscream—_all_ of him—you won't be able to do more than wish for the impossible."

Wheeljack hurriedly steps away from the door as Skyfire approaches, not looking up at the shuttle as he walks out of the room, bending slightly and turning sideways to avoid knocking his still lifted wings against the door frame.

The soft clicking of the door shutting finally snaps Perceptor out of his tense posture, and, shakily the microscope sits down on the first available chair.

Carefully, the white and green Autobot approaches his fellow scientist, softly letting the humans back on the table before clasping a red shoulder reassuringly.

"I think it will be better to drop the project for a bit."

"I think it will be better to drop it completely." Perceptor hunches down with a tired sigh, pressing a servo against the side of his helm. "Did you hear what he said?"

"… Yes." Wheeljack's servo falls to his side, his darkened optics landing on the device still on the worktable. "And bots say _I_ am the crazy scientist. That Seeker is either completely glitched or one of the biggest genius ever to have managed _that_."

"I'm going to borrow a human expression, and say he's both." The Lancia lets out a huffed burst of air in a snort, but even for such a mechanical sound, there's no humor in it.

"Why?" Spike asks softly after a couple seconds of silence, but none of the Autobots look at him.

"Because if what Skyfire implied is true, Starscream's null-rays are linked to his spark." Perceptor answers in defeat, optics going offline, as Wheeljack turns back to the Witwicky.

"To make a comparison, it would be like a human powering their car by pedaling. It could be done for a bit, but… well, they would tire, and when someone, either Cybertronian or human, gets tired enough…" The inventor shakes his helm in a negative, and the teenager pales.

"Then, why didn't Skyfire tell you that from the beginning?"

Both scientist exchange an indecipherable look.

"Trust issues." Wheeljack finally answers before helping them down the table and accompanying them to the door.

When it closes, the humans in the corridor and the Autobots in the lab, father and son look at each other with confusion and a hint of dread.

There are many ways they could take that answer as, but none of them is reassuring.

* * *

**AN:** Another mixed chapter, and the psychological warfare is on! Poor Spike, playing bullet between the factions... Kind of reminds me of table tennis.

I apologize for the OOC-ness in this chapter, but I couldn't do anything to avoid it.

For each question answered, more pop up. More Q&A next chapter, with explanations for some of the things in this one.


	7. The Thirteen

The Rec Room is as boisterous as ever when the two humans finally get to it, though it does nothing to alleviate their confusion.

Skyfire's words, and his actions, still have their brains reeling.

Spike considers asking Red Alert if he can pinpoint Starscream's location next the Seeker is out of the _Nemesis_, and try to convince one of the Autobots to help the boy find the jet.

After all, Starscream was the one to tell him to ask.

Though he can ask the Shuttle himself, the teenager doesn't feel confident, nor does he know where he is.

And the other two scientists have literally closed the door on their faces.

So, Spike looks around the Rec Room and finds someone else to get answers from.

Perhaps it's not the brightest move, taking into account the mech and certain situations he's been in, but if someone can explain about 'trust issues' it's a Spec Ops agent.

Thus, the teenager stops by the blue and white pedes and looks up at the slightly curious blue optics observing him over the rim of a half-filled Energon cube.

"Hey, Mirage, can I ask you a question?"

After a second of thought, the spy puts his cube on the table and reaches for the two humans, gently depositing them on the table.

"I don't see why not." He answers calmly, crossing his servos on the table almost business-like.

"Well, we were in the lab when Perceptor and Skyfire started… not fighting, but it was a nasty discussion." Blue optics pale slightly in interest and curiosity, and the boy looks down, trying to find his next words without insulting the mech.

"They were working in a null-ray, but Skyfire didn't want to help." His father interjects, patting the younger's shoulder reassuringly. "There were some… nasty things said—" Mirage's optics flash, and what was curiosity turns into a stony emotionless look. "—and Skyfire said that only Starscream could make the null-rays work, because they're connected to his spark." The Ligier's engine hiccups as he gapes for a second before he recomposes himself.

"When we asked why Skyfire hadn't said so from the start, Wheeljack said it was because of trust issues. Do you know what that means?"

"You're asking _Mirage_ what 'trust issues' are? Please!" All eyes and optics turn to Cliffjumper, who is smirking at them with his arms crossed against his chest. "If you want to know something about trust, there are a lot of better mechs to ask."

"Like you?" The noble asks with light amusement, and the Minibot straightens almost proudly.

"Of course! Who has the most trust issues in the Autobot army?" The humans laugh lightly as the red mech takes a step next to the Spec Ops agent, looking down at them with curiosity. "Now, jokes aside. What are you talking about?"

"I'm not sure they should tell you." Mirage cuts in, voice and expression serious, holding a servo up to stop the Witwicky. "Unless I have misunderstood what you just explained, the reason that information wasn't divulged would be due to a promise between Skyfire and Starscream, rather than Skyfire not trusting the Autobots." He adds calmly, and, to Spike's surprise, Cliffjumper looks more pensive than angry at knowing the Shuttle kept something about their enemy to himself.

"Slagging Fliers." The Minibot grumbles almost darkly before looking at the Spec Ops agent. "Guess they told you what that information is, huh?"

"They did. So, I have to ask you keep this knowledge to yourselves." The Ligier answers, turning to the humans. "That is something for Skyfire and Starscream to tell, not the rest of us. As impossible as such a thing sounds like."

"Hey, it's The Screaming One you're talking about. I'm starting to think the slagger can't deactivate, with how many times Buckethead has hammered him into scrap metal." The red mech answers easily, his engine revving softly in a snort. "Only Primus could keep counting."

The noble doesn't snort, but the way he hides behind his cube to take a sip of Energon tells Spike he's hiding his own grin, though surely not as big nor sharp as Cliffjumper's.

"Now, did you say there was dissent among the scientists?" Mirage asks calmly after putting his cube down and, curious, the Minibot takes a seat next to the white and blue mech to listen to the humans.

"I'm surprised you understood the insults."

"They weren't really insulting each other." The teenager answers with a smirk before it vanishes. "Kind of. Since Skyfire didn't want to reveal… that information about Starscream, Perceptor said, well… he may have implied Skyfire wasn't really on the Autobot side." Regardless of their status in Cybertron, the flash of blue optics and the astonished expressions are the same on both mechs. "And man, was Skyfire pissed… Wheeljack grabbed us and almost ran out the door when his wings started moving!"

"His wings _moved_?!" Both Autobots exclaim in unison, the stunned flash of blue forcing Spike to blink blotches of light away for a couple of seconds.

And then, he realizes the Rec Room is silent.

A quick look around reveals that all mechs, despite there being not too many of them, are looking at their table with confusion and curiosity.

"Whose wings moved?" Brawn asks, and Spike suddenly feels very nervous and self-conscious.

"Skyfire's."

Curiosity and confusion turn to loaded silence, charged with something the boy can't identify between fear and dread…

"Oh, _slag_." And, with those two words, Cliffjumper summarizes the feelings in the room. "A torqued Skyfire whose wings _moved_. What did you say Perceptor said _exactly_?"

"Uh, something like… why do you have that brand on your chest…"

"What is the brand on your chest plates for." Sparkplug adds calmly, and clinking of Cybertronian shivers fill the room.

"Nice one, Perceptor." The Minibot groans, softly shaking his helm.

"I didn't know Skyfire's wings could move." Spike comments after a second, trying to change the topic.

"All wings can move." Mirage answers, sipping from his Energon once more, though visibly more relaxed. "Doorwings and Fliers' wings. It's just that Flier's keep theirs locked to lower their sensitivity when on the ground."

"Because they're sensitive enough to notice change in air currents and the like." The teenager adds, remembering the Shuttle's words in Jazz's office, and the Spec Ops agent nods.

"Doorwings are almost as sensitive, but their sensory suits are more easily controlled, so they don't have a locking mechanism. Wings are also used as a method of communication, so Fliers keep them unlocked at times when on the ground, though not in the presence of Ground-bound Cybertronian."

"Unless, as you saw, they are really torqued or want to make a point." Cliffjumper adds, the rest of Autobots in the room minding their own business once more. "That's when coding overwhelms the processor, and they act before they can check themselves."

The humans nod as a sign of understanding, and Mirage stands up.

"If you will excuse me, my shift is about to begin. Have a nice day." And, followed by the Witwicky's farewells, the Ligier walks out of the Rec Room after disposing of his empty cube in a recycling machine.

"Nice situation to learn about wings. First that _thing_ at the battlefield and now the stunt in the labs. I'm starting to think you do it on purpose." The Minibot's blue optics darken as he leans forward, a suspicious look on his faceplate, and Spike can't help but think of Soundwave's words once more.

_"Human: Would make a fine Decepticon."_

"If you guys told me about those things, we wouldn't find ourselves in this situations!" He retorts with a grimace, and, after a couple of seconds of silence, the red mech straightens with a pensive look.

"Well, that's right. Guess Ratchet hasn't been doing that great of a job." He muses to himself and, with a gesture for the humans to stay put, he stands up.

After retrieving a cube of Energon from the dispenser, the Minibot sits down once more, still deep in thought.

"I'm not the best at those things, but if _I_ am the one to tell you, at least I'll know what you're learning." He finally says, taking a big gulp of his drink before moving to a more comfortable seating position. "Alright. Do you know about the creation of the Cybertronian?" Both males nod, for the teenager told the story of Primus and his robots to his father as soon as he got home. "So, you know about the Thirteen Primes?"

"_Thirteen_ what? Are they Optimus' family?"

Cliffjumper's engine roars in a bark of laughter, and Spike can feel some more bright optics turn to them.

"'Prime' is a title. It means they're the Chosen of Primus to lead the Senate, and, as thus, Cybertron. The Thirteen, or Thirteen Primes, were the first Cybertronian, those Primus created and taught himself, and the ones who guided Cybertron to rise as the most powerful and advanced world in unaccountable galaxies."

Spike's mouth falls open, though not so much at the words than at the pride and joy in Cliffjumper's face.

_Cliffjumper_. Smiling.

Eery…

"A title. Got it." Is the only thing he can answer, still stunned at the uncharacteristic look of almost fatherly pride in the Minibot's face, who seems to calm down when he hears the boy.

"Alright. The Thirteen were also the first of every existing frame type, and from them were created all the others in their image, with changes brought about by each individual that, with time, became different models." Movement catches the teenager's attention, and, with a look around, he finds all optics in the room turned to them, listening almost enthralled.

The red mech just straightens at the attention.

"The First, and the one who was eventually bestowed the Matrix—"

"The what?" Snickers fill the room at Cliffjumper's scowl when the boy interrupts him, so Spike gives him a sheepish smile.

"The Matrix of Leadership. It contains the knowledge of all previous Primes and is the last gift of Primus to the Thirteen. Only a Prime can carry it." Gears answers grumpily from where he's sitting with some other Minibots, and nods and soft words in agreement follow.

The teenager remembers Ratchet telling about a powerful object given to the leader of the first robots, containing the part of Primus' spark that didn't become Cybertron's core, and quickly realizes that they're talking about the same.

"Yes, that. Now, as I was saying, the First, and the one who was eventually bestowed the Matrix, was Prima, the Road Runner, also known as the Embodiment of Light, for his speed was so great and his color scheme so pale that he seemed but a ray of light as he drove." Cheers erupt from the twins, sitting in front of the Cybertronian-sized console and the paused game onscreen.

"The Second was Vector, the Shuttle, also known as the Guardian of Space and Time, for his was the ability to traverse the void of space and visit any world he so wished, entering in other spaces and times unknown to Cybertronian." Sideswipe continues after he realizes they have the room's attention, a big and snobbish grin on his faceplate.

"The Third was Alpha, the Chaser, also known as the Knowledge Keeper, for his was the ability to roam areas impassable to others and find truth where others couldn't reach, taking it with him to share, for he always found his way back." Sunstreaker adds with an even more arrogant look, not paying attention to the soft whispers among the rest of Autobots.

"Why are you talking like that?" Sparkplug asks before someone else can pick up the curiously structured descriptions, turning to an annoyed-looking Cliffjumper that's glaring holes into the twins.

"'Cause that's how everyone knows it." He answers nonchalantly, not looking at the humans, who exchange an 'oh well' look and a shrug.

Sounds like the multiplication rules the boy had to learn in school—and that he can still hear bouncing in his brain in that sing-song cadence their teacher used.

"So, the first was…"

"Prima."

"Prima, who was the same frame type as Sideswipe and Sunstreaker." All Autobots nod, with the twins glowing under the glare Cliffjumper is still giving them. "Then, a Shuttle…"

"Vector." The Minibot supplies in a soft growl, just as before, and Spike takes out his small notebook and pen and starts writing.

"Prima the… Road Runner?" A nod, and the boy quickly writes it down next to the name and the number one, adding an arrow before putting 'twins' after it. "Then, Vector the Shuttle. And the third?"

"Alpha, the Chaser, also known as the Knowledge Keeper, for his was the ability to roam areas impassable to others and find truth where others couldn't reach, taking it with him to share, for he always found his way back." The whole room seems to recite in unison, and Spike feels awe and wonder fill him, as well as amusement at the thought that they sound like a class of kids.

"Wait, Knowledge Keeper?" He repeats, writing it awkwardly next to Alpha's name. "What were Prima and Vector's titles?"

"Prima was the Embodiment of Light, and Vector, the Guardian of Space and Time." And, no sooner has he written it down, the teenager realizes it isn't enough.

So, wiping the frown from his face, he turns to a blank page and looks up at Cliffjumper, who has finally turned to look at the humans in curiosity, with a big smile.

"Mind repeating from the very beginning? I want to write it down."

Whatever he was expecting, it wasn't the Minibot's—and the rest of the present Autobots'—to beam brightly at the humans.

"Alright. I'll go slower." The teenager nods before turning all his attention to his notebook. "The First, and the one who was eventually bestowed the Matrix, was Prima, the Road Runner, also known as the Embodiment of Light, for his speed was so great and his color scheme so pale that he seemed but a ray of light as he drove." Cliffjumper falls silent, letting Spike finish writing and nod before continuing. "The Second was Vector, the Shuttle, also known as the Guardian of Space and Time, for his was the ability to traverse the void of space and visit any world he so wished, entering in other spaces and times unknown to Cybertronian."

"… unknown to Cybertronian." The boy repeats softly, his smile growing as he moves the pen to a new line.

"The Third was Alpha, the Chaser, also known as the Knowledge Keeper, for his was the ability to roam areas impassable to others and find truth where others couldn't reach, taking it with him to share, for he always found his way back." The teenager startles a bit at Hoist's voice, not having realized he's joined them on their table, but manages to write it down before looking up. "Now, you haven't seen a Chaser, since there wasn't any in the _Ark_, but if you were to compare one with a Road Runner, it would be like comparing a motorcycle to a car."

Spike ponders that for some seconds before returning to the previous page and writing a new line.

_3: Alpha – Chaser → Motorcycle_

"Alright. Who was the fourth?" He asks with a wide smile, once more returning to where he's writing down the story.

Or, more accurately, _history._

"The Fourth was Solus, the Femme, also known as the Artificer, for hers was the ability to develop and build what others thought impossible, and her nimbleness and hidden strength was her major asset."

"Solus, the Femme… Hey, that's the frame type your language packages think is feminine. Hound said it was a mistake." Soft murmurs along incredulous faces fill the room, and Spike snickers when he realizes the Autobots have just noticed that little detail with gender now that he's pointed it out.

"Slag, that's right." The red Minibot reboots his optics a couple of times in surprise, and the teenager laughs softly at his dumbfounded expression. "Didn't even notice when I spoke out loud."

"No problem, I'll just change a couple things and no big deal." The human answers with a wave of his hand, scratching the 's' on 'she' and changing 'her' for 'his'. "Done. I guess you have no Femmes here either, do you?" Hoist shakes his head with a smile, sipping form his cube.

"Maybe we can show you schematics from each main frame type later." The boy nods with a grateful smile before turning to Cliffjumper—

Who has straightened and looks almost as pompous as the twins did when talking about Prima, gesturing for the boy to turn his attention back to his notebook.

Curious and a bit confused, Spike obeys, readying himself for another paragraph.

"The Fifth was Micronus, the Minibot, also known as the Enhancer, for his small frame was a deceitful container for his strong spark and indomitable will, and never once turned he his back to those he was loyal to." The red mech recites proudly and, halfway through his copying, the teenager smirks, realizing the reason for the snobby attitude.

But, when he turns to his 'cheat chart', Spike stops and frowns softly.

"Huh, Cliffjumper? Which would be the 'standard' model of Minibot?" He asks, remembering that Hound told him there were a lot of different models, as he's witness to in his Autobot friends.

"Why, mine, of course." The red mech answers with a wide smirk, and the teenager snickers when he hears Gears and Huffer start to grumble.

"Yours and Bumblebee's, right?" Cliffjumper nods, still sitting pompously and without care for the optics drilling into him.

"Look at the midget, so proud. Please, it isn't as if there's been a _real_ Minibot Prime." Sunstreaker scoffs, and the red mech's high and mighty attitude turns downright menacing as he glares at the golden frontliner, threatening growl included.

Fortunately, Hoist grabs the smaller Autobot's arm in case he was thinking of jumping the twins.

Which, judging from his snarl, he was.

"Now, now, calm down. We're teaching Spike and Sparkplug about the Thirteen, not arguing about the lines of Matrix-bearing Primes. So please, leave your arguments for another time, or I'll be forced to call Prowl."

The tension doesn't immediately vanish, but, after about a minute or two, the Minibot turns around to pay attention to the humans once more.

"Slagging Road Runners, always thinking themselves better because of Prima. Micronus wasn't called a _Prime_ just because, what kind of glitch do their processors—"

The medic's engine rumbles softly, and the red mech's grumbles die with a scowl.

"Ready for more, Spike?" Hoist asks after a soft shake of his helm and, deciding not to irk the hot-tempered Autobot further, the boy nods and turns back to his notebook. "The Sixth was Alchemist, the Builder, also known as the Wielder of Worlds, for his was the ability to recognize all elements and materials in existence and manipulate them to give form to that which would aid those in need."

"Builder. Is that your frame type?" He asks the green mech, who revs his engine softly in what would be chuckling.

"No, it isn't. It's Grapple's, and the Constructicons'. Though none of them are anything like the 'standard' Builders, if you want to call them so. During the Golden Age, they were all reconfigured into more specific jobs, even if Alchemist was supposed to be able to take different positions instead of only one." He explains calmly, and, although mildly confused as for the reasons for this specifying, Spike nods.

"Alright. The next?" He asks, once more turning to his notebook, and this time it's Cliffjumper who answers.

"The Seventh was Nexus, the Triple Changer, also known as the Enigma of Combination, for his was the ability to roam both air and ground, with the nobility and power of three to strengthen his unbreakable desire to help." Various engine-snorts and mocking laughter fill the room, and the teenager can't finish writing fast enough to look up in an effort to understand their reactions.

He needn't have worried.

"Nobility, as if! Triple Changers are nothing more than brutes and warmechs." Huffer scoffs, and, to the humans' astonishment, others nod in agreement.

"Decepticon scum." Someone else grumbles, though this time there are some voices raised against those words.

"Hey, don't put them all in there! Some Triple Changers are Autobots."

"Oh, yeah? Like who?"

"That big blue and black Tread Roller-Air Weapon?"

"The one from Straxus? That could have been a 'Con for all he did!"

"And how about Omega Supreme?"

"One good among how many millions? They're all fragging 'Cons! Omega's a 'Bot 'cause of the Senate!"

As the argument—or swapping of insults and scoffs, to be more accurate—continues, Spike turns to Hoist with a pleading look.

The green mech's blue visor darkens at the look, but he doesn't say anything.

"Hey! Keep quiet, would you? We're trying to teach Spike and Sparkplug, and they haven't heard the whole story yet." Cliffjumper exclaims, silencing the rest of Autobots, before turning to the humans. "The Thirteen were Primes. They were right, and nothing like the 'Cons. Unfortunately, those who followed were _nothing_ like them." He adds with a scowl, and murmurs of agreement follow his words. "Though there were some that shouldn't have been Primes. Keep writing." The teenager startles at that but, slowly, he turns back to his notebook, not knowing what to expect next. "The Eighth was Onyx, the Seeker, also known as the Three-Faced, for his was the most energetic spark and fastest processor, to enhance his ability to find that which was hidden, and to always return with what was needed."

Spike doesn't need to look up to know they're all scowling and snarling, nor does he need to ask for the reason.

All Seekers are Decepticons and, from what little he knows, they're the reason Megatron got as far as he did.

"Who was the ninth?" Sparkplug asks calmly, easily heard despite the engine growls starting to fill the room, so the boy gives him a grateful look.

It takes some seconds, but the Autobots seem to calm down as they push memories away.

"The Ninth was Amalgamous, the Doorwinger, also known as the Shifter, for his was the speed of Prima and the sensitivity of Onyx while being none but himself, and the ability to sooth sparks and calm processors."

"Prowl, Smokescreen and Bluestreak, right?" The teenager asks Hoist as soon as he finishes writing, and the medic nods. "When you say 'the sensitivity of Onyx', do you mean the doorwings?"

"Yeah, those things are almost more sensor-ladden than a medic's sevos." Cliffjumper answers gruffly, his engine rumbling somehow angrily before gesturing to the notebook. "Want to hear about the rest, or keep asking?"

"The rest. I can't start asking if I don't have all the information." He explains, remembering the two Decepticons that 'kidnapped' him so that they could teach him.

"Well put. Alright, the Tenth was Quintus, the Cassette Carrier, also known as the Life Giver, for his was the most active spark and the ability to synchronize systems with others to support sparks, processors and frames, as well as uncountable bonds." The Minibot answers, leaning against the back of his seat almost bored.

"Which would be Soundwave and Blaster."

"Only Blaster, actually." Startled, both humans turn to the softly smiling green mech. "Both are Cassette Carriers, but only Blaster is the standard model."

"But they look the same." Sparkplug questions without asking, looking confused.

"Not all differences are visible, some run code-deep."

After exchanging a look of realization, father and son nod.

"How about Cassettes?" The teenager asks, and Cliffjumper tenses even more in annoyance bordering anger.

"They're a model of Minibot." A look at the red mech is all Spike needs to know he would have better luck asking someone else, so he just nods, writes the new information in his chart, and turns expectantly to Hoist once he has turned to a new empty page to keep writing.

"The Eleventh was Liege, the Medic, also known as the Manipulator, for his was the ability to modify frames and processors to nurse and nurture and strengthen and heal, anchoring life to metal and giving metal life." The teenager doesn't even bother suppressing his chuckles at the pride in the green mech's voice. "And yes, that would be mine and Ratchet's frame type. There's no standard model, though, since Medics are so because of their inner workings and processors, not anything physical."

"I think I'm really going to go ask Ratchet that datapad he showed us before." His father muses out loud, and Spike nods eagerly.

"Datapad?" Cliffjumper asks, leaning forward a bit.

"One with different schematics of frame types and models." Hoist lets out a humming sound of understanding, and the Minibot turns a suspicious glare to him.

"It's a basic learning program for newspark Medics, though I can see it would be useful for them too. It's made to learn, after all." Placated by that answer, the red mech goes back to leaning against his seat, quickly looking at Spike and nodding to let him know he's about to keep explaining.

So, the boy turns his attention back to his notebook eagerly.

"The Twelfth was Megatronus, the Tread Roller, also known as the Impenetrable Darkness, for his was the thickest armor and the darkest color scheme and the most powerful weapons, which allowed him to defeat all that dared harm those he was sworn to protect."

It takes the teenager a bit of effort to keep writing without messing up the words, but as soon as he's done, he quickly looks up at the almost expectant Autobots.

They knew what his reaction would be.

"Yes, Megatron is a Tread Roller, and yes, he was designated after Megatronus, though no one knows if that was his original designation. And no, he's not a standard Tread Roller, that would be Warpath." Hoist answers easily before the human even has time to ask, and, after some seconds to assimilate that information, Spike turns to his cheat chart to write it down.

"But Megatron's a gun, and Warpath is a tank." Sparkplug points out curiously, and there's an almost impish smile on the medic's faceplate when the teenager looks up.

"They're a really varied frame type. Perceptor is a Tread Roller too." Stupefied, the Witwicky can only gap at him. "Lots of different models, but what you need to remember is to never mess up with them." A quick look around the room shows the rest of Autobots nodding in agreement.

Slowly, the humans put themselves back together.

"I _really_ need to learn about models." His father says, and Spike finds himself agreeing even though he's already readying himself to write about the last Prime.

"Let me guess, the Thirteenth is like Optimus. A Cargo?" The boy asks, and both Medic and Minibot nod before the red mech leans a bit forward.

"The Thirteenth was Maximum, the Cargo, also known as the Unifier, for his was the ability to bring closer that which needed be, whether it was through will or physical strength, and his spark was bright enough to act as a beacon that always guided his siblings home." The teenager has to scramble a bit to write it all, but, after filling his cheat chart with that last information, he looks back at it.

"That's oddly beautiful."

"You always say something about the others. To go back to them, to bring them back, to protect them…" Spike points out after sharing a rueful smile with his father.

"Because they were Primes, and that's how Primes are. They keep Cybertron unified, taken care of… without them, each frame type would go their own way, and we all know how _that_ ended like." Cliffjumper answers with a scoff before standing up. "Well, I've got a shift to get to. Try not to mess up what we've told you."

Spike rolls his eyes at that with a soft chuckle, but the Minibot doesn't stop, joining the others of his frame type before they all walk out of the Rec Room.

"Any questions, or shall I take you to the Repair Bay to let you play with the frame type-model datapad?" Hoist asks, and Spike takes a quick look at what he's written to make sure he really doesn't have questions—

And finds one.

"Why was Onyx called 'Three-Faced'?"

"Because the processor speed of Seekers allows them to think faster than other Cybertronian, and thus makes their moods change apparently at random, resulting in them seemingly having different personalities." The Medic answers calmly, and the boy just nods before writing 'mood swings' in his chart.

"I think that's all. Can we go to the Repair Bay now?" He asks hopefully, giving the Autobot his best puppy eyes, and Hoist laughs with a rumble of his engine as he helps them get down the table.

"Since you already know about frame types, I don't see why not." the green mech answers as he gestures to the door and, happily, the humans start to walk, looking over Spike's notes.

"This is going to be awesome." The teenager whispers, and laughter follows them as they leave the Rec Room.

* * *

**AN:** Sorry about the lack of update last week, but this chapter was a lot harder than I thought it'd be, taking into account I had all my HC ready and waiting to just be copied here. The characters (I'm looking at you, Cliffjumper) made things more difficult than I expected them to be.

Unfortunately, I can't promise an extra update to make up for the one I missed, since that's all I have written, so, if there is ever going to be a double update to make up for this, it won't be this week.

I used _Transformers: Prime_'s list of the Thirteen Primes as well as some of their titles and frames, but I adapted most of them and made up the history behind them. About models and which character is which, there are some obvious ones while I took liberties with others. Things will be explained further in the fic.


	8. Answers on the Road

When they enter the Repair Room, Ratchet doesn't even look at them, just points at one table and keeps working on whatever it is he's doing.

Hoist gives them a wink before helping them up, and, once they're released, the humans see a datapad raised against what looks like a book-rest, already online and showing a Newspark Protoform with a column of unknown writing on one side.

"Called ahead?" Spike asks with a smile, and the green mech returns the gesture.

"Of course. I wouldn't have wanted to be received with a wrench because I came in here with no malfunctions." The ambulance's engine growls menacingly, one optic peeking over a shoulder to glare at them, before turning back to his work.

"If I hear something not related to teaching the humans about models, I can solve that lack of malfunctions." Hoist's frame shivers with soft tingling before he quickly turns with an exaggerated grimace.

Recognizing the friendly bantering for what it is, the Witwicky chuckle.

"So… can we start?" Spike asks cheerfully, taking his notebook and pen and looking at the cheat chart of frame types.

"Whenever you are ready." The green medic answers, taking a seat next to the table, in close range of the pad. "Would you like to start with a certain model, or do I explain them as they come up?"

"How about we start with general characteristics of the frame type before explaining their models?" Sparkplug suggests, and his son nods eagerly as he opens a blank page and writes 'Road Runner' at the top.

"Fine by me. Shall we use the Common Structure, then?"

"What's that?" The teenager asks, and the medic chuckles.

"It's the most usual method of classification of frame types, as well as the official one. It follows the order of the Thirteen." Both humans nod, and Hoist taps the first row of symbols on the pad, which disappears to give way to another. "Alright. The first frame type would then be the Road Runners. They're Ground-bound Cybertronian of medium size, and include the fastest ground models. They are one of the most numerous frame type, and formed most of the Senate. Due to Prima, the first Prime, being a Road Runner, those with this frame type believe themselves higher in status than any other, which brought about their supremacy and usually high status during the Golden Age, with almost all in the Nobility being Road Runners."

"Ah, Hoist?" The Autobot's mouth shuts as he turns to the Witwicky, his visor a paler blue in curiosity. "I thought you were going to explain _physical_ characteristics, not cultural." The Medic reboots his visual band before smiling sheepishly.

"I apologize, but it's just that such things are deeply entwined, and thus difficult to put apart. I can try to stick to frames, though, if you would prefer it."

"No, no. We were just surprised, that's all." His father answers with an easy smile, waving a hand to tell the mech to relax. "Though I'm afraid I have some questions."

"So do I." The boy adds with a nod, and the Autobot's smile softens.

"Of course. Ask ahead."

"What is the Senate?"

Hoist's smile wavers and his visor turns a deeper blue, but he manages to keep it up.

"Was, actually. It is no more, thanks to the War."

"I may not support the methods, but I will say it was about slagging time." Spike jumps in surprise, having forgotten Ratchet was there, before he turns to the serious ambulance leaning against his worktable with his arms crossed against his chassis. "The Senate was the ultimate governing power on Cybertron. Originally, they were supposed to be formed by one representative of each frame type, and another from each City-State, but such a structure was only real in history pads, by the time I activated." His voice is dark, slightly growling, and the snarl on his faceplate is nothing like those the boy is used to seeing when the Medic deals with unruly patients.

This one is downright scary.

"As far as I know, it was decreed at the beginning of the Golden Age that only the representatives of the City-States were needed to conform the Senate, since frame types weren't restricted to a single one and thus it was useless to debate about what would be best for each of them without taking into consideration the environment of each and every Cybertronian. The problem came when the remaining representatives, somehow, slowly were replaced by Road Runners. They had always had the numbers and position, but to go as far as that…" The mostly white Autobot shakes his head, optics going black. "Inevitably, the Senate started to corrupt, even going as far as taking the Prime with them. By the time someone rose against them, the only solution was to get rid of the system and start anew."

"Megatron deactivated all of the Senate and decided to avoid such a system and corruption by becoming the only supreme ruler of Cybertron. 'Peace through tyranny'. That's his motto." The green mech adds softly, helm lowering to his tight fists.

"Optimus wanted to change that too. When he became Prime, he tried to reason with the Senate, but they couldn't be reasoned with anymore. Or, well. Megatron didn't give him more time to keep trying." Ratchet adds, plating twitching in a Cybertronian shrug.

A _nonchalant_ Cybertronian shrug.

"But that's in the past now. Next question?"

Spike opens his mouth just to close them again, not sure if the question he wants to ask will be welcomed now… but he'll never know if he doesn't at least try.

"Don't answer if you don't want to, but… what was the Golden Age?" To his relief, both Autobots relax, with the green one even giving him a small smile.

"It was a period in which Cybertron flourished. There were a lot of discoveries made and advancements the likes of which hadn't been recorded before. But it grew… stagnant, and it slowly came to an end."

"An explosive end that was seen coming vorns before, but the Senate only cared for themselves by then, and thus the Rebellion rose and hit. Hard. And Megatron was the one to walk away triumphant." Ratchet adds to Hoist's explanation, their calm having soured a bit, but the mood not being as angry and almost hateful as before.

"Right. You said Road Runners were medium size?" Sparkplug asks curiously, and both Medics return to the present with identical nods. "What would be 'medium size' for a Cybertronian?"

The ambulance lets out a snort-rev while the green mech's engine purrs in the equivalent of chuckling.

"There are two kinds of 'medium size', if you wish to get technical. 'Average size' applies to specific frame types, even to models sometimes, while 'medium size' is used when comparing frame types. Medium size would be a bit bigger than Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, but not too much." Hoist answers calmly before marking the first line of the new column.

The image of the Newspark Protoform changes, and the resulting Cybertronian is one that looks a lot like Red Alert.

"That would be the Road Runner model of the equally named frame type. The 'standard', if you wish to call it so."

"I thought you said the twins were the standard model." Spike comments with a small confused frown, looking up into the blue visor.

"They are. And Red Alert is too. Being of the same model doesn't mean they're all identical, there are differences between individuals." The green mech answers with a small amused smile, and Ratchet shakes his head with a bigger one before returning to his worktable.

"Right. My bad." The teenager chuckles, feeling his cheeks redden as his father pats his shoulder reassuringly, despite being softly laughing himself.

"Now this—" The Medic touches a couple of things and the pad goes back to showing the normal Newspark Protoform and the second column, of which he selects the fourth. "—is a Racer."

The image changes as Spike writes what has just been explained and the two names he knows now, along the given Autobot names next to the 'Road Runner' model.

So, when he looks up, he has the new form ready to be examined—and recognized.

"That looks a lot like Wheeljack." Sparkplug speaks first, while the boy marvels at the lack of face-mask and the Sunstreaker-like head-fins, though the body is distinctively the white scientist's.

"That would be because Wheeljack is a Racer. Their speed is slightly above Road Runner average, and their maneuverability is admirable. Their anti-gravs are also more powerful than the standard Road Runner's, so they can hover somewhat." Spike hurries to write that down under to the model name, before writing the scientist's name next to it.

"What about the standard Road Runner?"

"Fast, agile… there's not much that can be said without comparing them to others, which is why all models are describe in relation to the standard." Hoist answers easily and, since the boy already knows the twins and their capabilities, he just nods.

"Makes sense, I guess. Why does Wheeljack wear the face-mask and the fins?"

"The face-mask is because faceplates are slagging hard to fix, and I grew tired of dealing with that sort of thing after every explosion." Ratchet's grumpy voice cuts before the green mech can do more than open his mouth. "As for the fins, you'd have to ask him personally."

There's no tension in his voice, unlike that time with Prowl and the Newspark Law, so Spike makes a mental note of finding Wheeljack after this is over while he nods gratefully to the Medic.

"Does that mean you could take the mask off?" His father asks with a mix of curiosity and expectation, and the ambulance turns around to look at them with a deadpanned expression.

"Of course I can, that's a minor modification. Besides, the face-mask is retractable, _Wheeljack_ can decide when to wear it or not. I guess he's either got used to it over the vorn, or he's just tinkering with something _all the time_ when I'm not there to watch him."

Hoist looks away with an amused smile at that, but the older medic just turns his optics off with a shake of his helm.

"Is Prime's like his?" Both Autobots turn to Spike at that, looking curious, before nodding, and the boy smiles widely. "I _have to_ ask him to take it off."

"Good luck with that." Ratchet snort-revs, turning back to his work of, from what he's seen, taking care of his tools.

"You ask Prime, I'll ask Wheeljack." His father proposes, holding out a hand, and the teenager eagerly shakes it.

"Deal, but you've got to convince him to do it when I'm there too, 'kay?"

"And same with Prime."

Purring chuckles fill the Repair Bay at that, but Hoist calms down easily when they turn to him.

"Want some advice?" The humans nod eagerly, and the Medic smiles softly down at them. "If you ask Wheeljack anyplace outside the labs, he'll probably not object to it. As for Prime… well, good luck with that."

And Spike groans at that while his father lets out a bark of laughter.

"Be thankful we haven't bet anything." The older man finally says when the boy looks up again, though his sulky demeanor quickly goes back to cheerfulness as his gaze falls on the datapad again.

"So we have Road Runners and Racers. What model is Mirage's?" He asks the green mech, who touches a couple of things to show a new modified Newspark Protoform.

This time, Spike has to try really hard to recognize it, and even then, there are only small things he can relate to the blue and white spy, besides the overall shape.

"Why is this one so different?"

"That's a Tower Runner. Most Nobles were Road Runners, and of them, the majority were of this model. Because of that, and of them having access to the means to do so, they modified themselves extensively to be as 'unique' and 'special' as possible. They used to change color schemes frequently too, and minor aesthetic trinkets were added and taken off their frames almost ornly."

"Ornly?"

"Right, sorry. The human equivalent would be 'daily'."

And Spike remembers Ratchet and Hound telling him how many orns it takes a newspark to mature, and that they translated to months in human time measurements.

But to be said that an orn is essentially a Cybertronian day…

"Your days are really long, aren't they?" He whistles with eyes wide in surprise, and Hoist does that purring chuckling again.

"We live a lot longer than any organic lifeforms we've ever encountered, so it's expected that you find our time measures to be longer than your own."

"What does an orn amount in human terms?" His father asks, and the green Medic smiles at him.

"About 8'3 of your days."

Sparkplug whistles in appreciation.

"So, you guys stay awake eight days in a row?" The man questions, and the teenager turns to the Autobot with curiosity.

"It depends on the need to recharge. If we've been battling long or hard, we last less than if we've been working around the _Ark_." The humans nod, and Hoist's smile turns to a calm thinking expression. "Though we don't usually stay active all orn long. About 6'7 of your days in it, we tend to go into recharge. Sometimes more and sometimes less, it depends as much on the frame type and model as it does the mech and the situation."

And the mention of models quickly makes the boy's attention return to the datapad, and write down what the Medic has explained about Tower Runners.

"What other models are there? And who is which one?" The green mech chuckles at that before modifying the datapad again.

"Well, there's Hound. His model is the Wilderness Crosser." The servo stops just before marking another line in the 'model selection screen' as the medic's faceplate turns to a frown and his optics darken.

"Wilderness?" Ratchet repeats with a mix of incredulity and annoyance.

"That's what came up when I tried to translate it to English. I'm looking, but there doesn't seem to be an accurate equivalent other than that."

"Slagging language packets." The ambulance grumbles as he shakes his head and turns back to his work. "First our designations, then that mess with Femmes and now this. This is more trouble than it's worth."

Before Spike can ask what that thing with designations is about, Hoist shakes himself out of his reverie and presses the line, the Newspark Protoform image changing accordingly.

"Well, lets try and make it work with what we have. Alright, this is a Wilderness Crosser." The apparent sturdiness of the frame quickly reminds the boy of the tracker, but, unlike with the Tower Runners, there are a lot more small and not so small details that are clearly Hound in it.

Minus the chest.

The mech onscreen has a slightly protruding bumper-like thing, but it looks nothing like the scout's.

"What is that with the chest?" The teenager asks with a small frown, and Hoist leans a bit to the side as if the new angle could show him what is wrong.

"What is wrong with it?"

"It looks nothing like Hound's."

"Oh!" The Medic exclaims with a big smile, sitting back properly. "That's because of his alt mode, his jeep mode. That's how he looked like back in Cybertron, at least at the basic level. You've got to take into account that this is the Newspark Protoform, there was a lot more plating and some other additions put on after the transfer."

And, once more, Spike finds himself blushing.

"Right, your disguises. I had completely forgotten that you guys weren't always like you are now." A dactyl pats him softly on the back, the pressure barely amounting to what a human hand would feel like.

"It's alright. That's how you've always seen us as, after all."

"And here I was thinking the differences were all because of them being different individuals." Sparkplug groans, covering his face with his hands, and both boy and Autobot chuckle softly.

"No need to worry or apologize, it wasn't as if you knew how different some of us are after scanning this new forms."

"Yeah, you're right. So, what can you tell us about Hound's model?" Spike asks while giving the green mech a big smile.

"Wilderness Crossers aren't as fast as standard Road Runners, but they are a lot more stable on any kind of terrain, and thus have a higher maneuverability than other mechs even in the environment best suited to their models. They tend to have better scans too, though Hound is above average on that." The boy writes it down, chuckling as he remembers the ride through the desert while thinking about what it would have been like for the twins. "Speed isn't everything on the wild areas of Cybertron, and you usually tend to need a specialist or a Flier to get out with all your parts attached to your frame." He adds almost cheerfully, but there's a note of seriousness in his voice.

Spike's smile turns smaller at that, but the Medic waves a hand to quit it importance.

"Now, another model you know is the High Weight." Hoist continues calmly, and the teenager shrugs that off as the Medic modifies the parameters on the datapad.

They're not on Cybertron, and, being with giant alien robotic beings, there is little on Earth that can harm him.

Besides other giant alien robotic beings, of course.

His mind flashes back to the time he was standing in the middle of nowhere, surrounded only by red rocks and sand, and looking up at a kneeling white and dark blue being and a standing tri-colored aerial.

_That was only once._

Trapped by two beings their size, though with drills and pile-drivers for arms, one out of commission and the other held back by a well known and higher ranked enemy.

_Alright, twice. Doesn't mean it will always be like that._

And yet, Spike finds himself wanting to meet them again, if just to see how such an encounter would play out.

Will they answer any questions he may ask? Will they tell him about their culture and physiology like the Autobots are doing? Or about Decepticon way of life?

"Spike?" Startled out of his thoughts more because of the hand on his shoulder than the voice calling his name, the boy looks up, first at his father and then at the Medic.

"Ah, sorry. I was lost in thought."

"We noticed." Hoist answers with an amused smile, and the teenager rubs the back of his head in embarrassment. "I was asking if you recognized this frame." He adds, gesturing to the pad.

The Newspark Protoform has now turned bigger than the previous times, though not as much as with the Prime model—Cargo, wasn't it?—yet that small change is enough to diminish the amount of armor on it.

As thus, the human can only tilt his head in confusion.

"No idea. Who is it?"

"That's Trailbreaker's model." Startled, the boy turns to the green mech and back to the datapad, squinting his eyes as he tries to imagine some more armor on the Newspark Protoform—

And easily recognizing the shape that would result.

"Huh. You're right." Hoist purrs with amusement at that, but Ratchet lets out a loud rev as a bark of laughter. "Alright, alright. Wrong choice of words."

"At least you can recognize _that_." The ambulance answers, the revving having softened but still audible, and Spike pouts when the Medic turns around.

"Well, ex_cuse_ me for not being a Medic or having all this information already crammed in my brain." The CMO straightens with a fake scowl at those words, and the green mech's purring grows slightly in intensity.

"I'll let you know, _newspark_, that there's not a single strand of code _crammed_ in my processor, everything is perfectly partitioned, compressed and ordered as it should be."

"I'm not Cybertronian." He points out, pout still in place.

"Alright. Then, I'll let you know, _child_, that there's not a single strand of code—"

"Alright, alright!" The boy laughs, unable to keep it back at the deja vu that comes with Ratchet's identical intonation of his previous statement. "Self-righteous Medic."

"As it should very well be." The ambulance answers with a nod, leaving the humans laughing as he turns back to his tools with an amused smile.

"Looks like Ratchet's in a good mood, huh?" Hoist whispers, leaning closer, and a cloth flies over the mostly white Autobot's shoulder to slam on the green mech's faceplate. "I didn't say anything!"

"Do you know what doesn't _say anything_ either? Human toasters." The younger Medic winces at that, and the Witwicky have to fight their laughter. "Now give me back my polishing cloth."

Silently, Hoist obeys, wearing a sheepish grin, and father and son exchange a look.

Oh, yes. The Chief Medical Officer is indeed in a good mood.

That, and he values the other Medic too much to throw wrenches at him.

When the green mech sits down again, Spike gestures to the datapad.

"So, about Trailbreaker's model…" He leaves it at that, but the Autobot just smiles.

"The name's High Weight, because they're larger and, consequently, heavier than the standard. They're slower, too, but they make up for that with their thicker armor."

"What about his ability to create force fields?" Sparkplug asks, and the Medic frowns softly.

"Well, that kind of abilities are different from one individual to another. Some are unique to the Cybertronian presenting it, while others are thanks to some kind of device. The thing is, every one of them is attuned to the mech, sometimes using spark energy to initialize, or require some kind of log in only the user possesses, like a certain wavelength of spark energy. Mirage's invisibility and Trailbreaker's force fields are due to devices, but said items were developed using their own systems as their base. I'd rather not bore you with the details, but that's why the Decepticons, nor any other mech, have been able to copy them."

"And it's the same with Skywarp and Thundercracker."

"Not really." All eyes plus one visor turn to Ratchet, once more leaning against his worktable. "Skywarp's teleporting may very well be, but if it is, no one's been able to replicate it. As for Thundercracker's sonics, they are unique to him, as well as Dirge's fear-inducing engines. These abilities that are integrated in the mech are called Sigma Abilities, and it's impossible to copy them, since they're part of their frames. Seekers usually have frequency-related Abilities, including sound. Hound, on the other hand, has the Ability to project holograms because of his highly developed scanning suite. It can't just receive, it can also _send_. Basically, he tricks the sensors of others, but he needs to have scanned whatever he's using to deceive them for it to be useful."

"It's like superpowers." Spike whispers in awe, receiving amused looks from the Autobots.

"You humans have a name for everything except for what matters, don't you?" Ratchet asks in a tone of voice that reveals he's not expecting an answer, so the teenager just laughs.

"Wouldn't know about that, there are names for everything that matters _to me_." He answers cockily, and the Medic dims his optics with a fond smile, leaving him looking condescending.

"Oh, yes. There are names for everything important. _Brat_."

"Har. Har."

* * *

**AN:** Yes! I finished it on time! This one was hard to start, but once I got it going? I couldn't find the brakes!

Update on Friday because I won't be able to tomorrow or Sunday (and because I'm proud of having finished this chapter XP).

I'm happy to introduce some models of Road Runners and answers to some other things. There will be more coming up (and I hope it won't be as hard as with this one...).

Nevertheless, ask if you have questions. Unless they will be answered in the fic, I'll be happy to clear them (my HC's a bit messy sometimes).


End file.
